


End of the Line

by honeysbutter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Widow!Hanamaki, Captain America!Iwaizumi, Falcon!Matsukawa, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Marvel - Freeform, Memory Loss, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death, Winter Soldier!Oikawa, basically a stucky!iwaoi au, iwaoi - Freeform, who the hell is tooru?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24642823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysbutter/pseuds/honeysbutter
Summary: “You’re my mission,” Oikawa hissed.Punch after punch, Hajime could only feel the weight of his partner on his torso and the metal hitting his skin. Still, despite the pain, despite everything, he let it happen, blearily looking at Oikawa Tooru through his bruised eyes. The blows stopped for a moment, and Hajime watched as the brunet had his arm frozen in the air.“Then finish it,” he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek. “‘Cause I’m with you until the end of the line.”
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio (mentioned), Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi (mentioned)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 79





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my first fanfic ever but i cannot get stucky!iwaoi out of my mind. this fic is set in america, although iwaizumi isn't "captain america" but instead just referred to as "the captain". i mention a bunch of the haikyuu characters but not all of them will be superheroes. this fic is loosely based off of the mcu but i altered many things for story purposes.

He remembers flashes. Blurs. Slivers of a memory not too long ago running once again before his eyes. A shiver runs down his spine, the ghost feeling of ice hugging his body.

_"I got to put her in the water!" Hajime insisted, hands tight around the controls. "This is the only way."_

_"Iwaizumi—"_

_"It's okay," he murmured into his radio. The white surroundings began to blur as the aircraft begun its descent. The voice, his commander, sighed shakily._

_"Thank you for your service, Captain."_

_Hajime shut his eyes tightly. This was it. After years of war, months of fighting in it, and weeks of despair—it was finally ending. No more families broken apart, no more violence, no more people taken away too soon._

_His last thought was of a gentle smile on a brunet's lips. A whisper of reassurance. His heart clenched for a brief moment before his facial features relaxed._

I'm coming, Tooru.

_Then it was dark._

In a distance he heard a staticky sound of a radio blaring the commentary of a baseball game.A gentle breeze brushed against his dark hair. Hajime furrowed his brows, blearily opening his green eyes. Where was he?

Slowly sitting up, Hajime scanned the room. It felt familiar yet foreign all at the same time. He took in the slow turning of the ceiling fan before glancing at the window. Buildings greeted him, and yet...

He frowned further. Those were not real buildings.

The clicking of the door caught his attention. He tensed, alarm bells already ringing in his head. Wherever he was, it wasn't real. It wasn't _safe_.

A woman entered the room. Her dark hair fell into curls, pale complexion contrasting against the rouge on her lips. Her white blouse was tucked into a brown pencil skirt with a tie hugging the collar tightly. His eyes zeroed in on the tie. It was too wide for a woman's uniform in the military. He then noticed the subtle outline of her bra, another thing that would never be seen from any woman, especially a government worker.

"Good morning," she said gently. He looked at her face, observing how her lips pulled in a tight line. The woman glanced at her watch. "Or should I say, afternoon."

"Where am I?"

Her posture stiffened slightly, making him more cautious. She smiled once again, emitting a warm aura.

Hajime knew better. He knew that facade too well. Whatever reality she wanted him to believe, he was not buying it.

"You're in a recovery room in New York city."

He looked at the radio, recognizing the plays narrated by the commentator. Looking back at the woman, the soldier began to stand up slowly, squared shoulders in a defensive stance. "Where am I really?" He asked in a low tone.

"I-I don't understand—"

"The game,” he inched closer, eyes glowering at the woman with green fury. “It’s from May 1941. I know because I was there."

The door opened once again, startling the captain. Two men in black uniforms entered the room, seemingly armed. _Where the hell was he? Who are these people?_

“Captain Iwaizumi—"

Before the woman could complete her sentence, he grabbed one of the men inching towards him. Hajime threw him over his shoulder before tackling the other man to the wall.

The wall shattered easily, leaving a gaping hole that he and the man fell through. Hajime stumbled to stand up, giving a quick glance to the enlarged photo of buildings outside the makeshift room he was in.

His heart began to race, faintly hearing the woman still calling for him. Running out the doors, he ran into a hallway filled with men and women dressed in business formal. Hajime's eyes widened at the sleek and modern interior of the building before he bolted once more.

Questions ran through his mind, fuelling the pumping of his legs as he stumbled into the street. A variety of colorful infrastructures and cars filled his vision, providing a sensory overload.

He ran. He didn't know where he was going but it was all too much. He knew for a fact that he was in New York—the buildings, cars, and people all looked different but it was inexplicably _New York_.

His chest felt tight as he came to a halt. Circling around him were bright and vibrant advertisements, people in clothing his mother would disapprove of, and buildings taller than anything he's seen in his life. He realized he was hyperventilating.

_Where was he?_

Black cars pulled up behind him, several men with nonlethal weapons beginning to surround him. He was outnumbered.

"At ease, soldier!"

His attention focused on a man with unruly blonde hair pulled back by a hairband. His ears had piercings and his eyes screamed authority. Similar to the men surrounding him, he donned an all black attire, a turtle neck underneath a trench coat with trousers. The man stalked towards him with a stern yet a pity filled look.

"Look, I'm sorry about that little show earlier," he sighed. "I thought it would be best to break it to you slowly."

Hajime's eyes narrowed. "Break _what_?"

"You've been asleep, Cap," the man said. "For over seventy years."


	2. Two Years

It’s been two years since Iwaizumi Hajime awoke from a seventy year sleep. Two years since he reclaimed his role as the Captain, a national hero with a super soldier serum flowing through his veins. Two years since he found out all his past colleagues were either dead or bed ridden. Two years since he became an official agent of SHIELD.

The man who greeted him that day in times square, Ukai Keishin, was the director of the organization he now worked for. Through him and SHIELD, Hajime met more strange people. At first, he felt overwhelmed underneath the stoic mask of his. In the fourties, Hajime was the greatest experiment to happen, along with being the “strangest” person known (with the exception of Red Skull, of course).

Now, his only friends consisted of people who were definitely more odd than he was. Sawamura Daichi was a genius billionaire who donned an iron suit in battle who lead them in a fight against aliens— _aliens_ , for God’s sake—and was head over heels his assistant, Sugawara Koushi. There was also Azumane Asahi, a scientist with anxiety problems who turned into a giant green monster the moment his heart rate got too fast, and Nishinoya Yuu, who could shoot arrows straight bullseye without looking at his target. Not to mention, he also encountered a blonde lanky teen with sarcasm almost as intimidating as his ability to climb walls and shoot webs, an _extremely_ fast redhead and his aggressive best friend (questionable what their relationship was, really) who could move things with his mind, and a thunder god. A freakin’ _thunder god_ who was more of an overly excited puppy with gold eyes and who could only be tamed by his astrophysicist boyfriend.

Did he forget mention that out of all of these people, his closest friend was a pink haired assassin who could kill a man with his thighs?

Yeah, it’s been a wild two years.

Speaking of his pink haired friend, Hanamaki Takahiro, he was currently very, very, _very_ angry with him. The two of them have recently returned from a mission including hostages and French pirates. While the mission had gone smoothly, Hajime stumbled into a room where Hanamaki sat, fingers typing at an incredible speed on one of the computers. An argument and a grenade later, it turns out Hanamaki had a _different_ mission. One Hajime was not informed about.

As soon as they returned, Hajime decided to give the director a visit, which lead to where he was now. If he was honest, all he wanted to do was go on a run with his new, completely normal, friend—Matsukawa Issei. Matsukawa provided a kind of normalcy that Hajime desperately needed.

As the soldier settled into the elevator, he released a sigh. Glancing out at the view from the surround glass, he couldn’t help but think about how his first friend would have loved the modern day world. Sure, Hajime was glad that he had his new friends, but his chest still burned for a certain brunet.

He shook his head, exiting to the floor of the director. Now’s not the time to reminisce. Perhaps later, he could visit the Smithsonian once again. In his past time, Hajime would linger in the exhibit dedicated to his superhero alias underneath a baseball cap and casual attire, reliving the memories and photos displayed for everyone to see. His hand unconsciously rested against the pocket attached to his utility belt, feeling the familiar circular shape of his compass.

Opening the door, he walked into Director Ukai’s office. Hajime’s face morphed into annoyance as he remembered why he was there in the first place.

“You just can’t stop yourself from lying, can you?”

“I didn’t lie,” Ukai said dryly, “Agent Hanamaki had a different mission.”

“Which you didn’t feel obliged to share,” he argued.

“I’m not obliged to share _anything,_ Iwaizumi.”

“Those hostages could have died!”

“I sent the greatest soldier in history to make sure that didn’t happen.”

Hajime sighed. There was no winning with this man. Ukai stood, beckoning Hajime to follow him to the elevator once more. The director then said the words _Project Insight_ , directing the AI to bring them to the designated floor.

A beat of silence passed as the elevator descended. Hajime quirked his lip.

“You know, they used to play music.”

“Yeah,” Ukai smirked. “My dad used to operate one of these things. He used to work in a nice building with nice pay. Walked home every night, clutching his little lunch bag. He’d say “hi”, they’d say “hi” back.” Ukai leaned against the glass wall, low lidded eyes gazing at Hajime. “Over time, when pops used to say “hi”, they’d say “keep on steppin’.” Pops started gripping his lunch bag a little tighter.”

Hajime frowned. He knew of Ukai Ikkei, the only man who was more intimidating than Ukai Keishin himself. The anecdote didn’t necessarily fit the character the soldier had in mind.

“He ever get mugged?”

“Every week, some punk would ask “what’s in the bag?””

“What did he do?”

“He showed them. Bunch of crumpled dollars and a .22,” Ukai chuckled. “Poppa loved people. But he didn’t trust them very much.”

Hajime furrowed his brows at the last statement. Instead of a closing liner, it sounded like apersonal warning. The elevator doors opened, leading to a viewing deck of large aircrafts. Hajime felt his breath hitch, recognizing the structure of the machines. _Helicarriers, but larger than before_.

“Yeah, they’re a bit bigger than a .22.”

They walked onto the viewing deck as Hajime scanned the three helicarriers in the room. In a way, they seemed more advanced than the one he had been on a year prior. Behind him, he listened to Ukai introduce the crafts as Project Insight.

“Once we get them in the air they never need to come down. Continuous suborbital flight courtesy of our new repulsor engines.”

Hajime only understood the gist of the statement. “Sawamura?” He questioned, remembering how the billionaire got caught in the blades of the last helicarrier when they were under attack.

“Well, he had a few suggestions. These new long range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. We’re gonna neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen.”

Hajime paused at that. Neutralize threats before they happened? What exactly did that entail? He faintly remembered Hinata and Kageyama, the dynamic duo who were once their enemies and now one of their greatest members. There was a major possibility that these threats were like them—kids who didn’t know any better.

“I thought the punishment usually came after the crime,” Hajime said bitterly.

“We can’t afford to wait that long.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“After New York, I convinced the World Security Council we needed a quantum surge in threat analysis,” Ukai admitted. His eyes stared into Hajime’s, challenging. “For once, we're way ahead of the curve.”

“By holding a gun at everyone on Earth and calling it protection?”

Hajime was furious. This was not how justice was served. The system could easily be overrun by prejudice and generalization. Stereotypes could be influential. A single's person _opinion_ could be influential. There were a million scenarios running through his head where an innocent life would be lost and SHIELD would merely celebrate, calling it _justice._

“You know, I read those SSR files. Greatest generation?” Ukai scoffed. “You guys did nasty stuff.”

The soldier’s eyes flashed, anger fuelling at the mention of his past. “Yeah, we compromised _,_ ” he seethed. “Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so the people could be free. This isn't freedom, this is _fear_.”

Ukai straightened, chin tilted slightly upwards as he crossed his arms. “SHIELD takes the world as it is, not as we'd like it to be. It's getting damn near past time for you to get with that program, Cap.”

Hajime spared him one last glare. “Don’t hold your breath,” he muttered, turning back to the elevator. He was not going to take part in the loss of innocent lives. Someone out there would lose their spouse, their mother, their brother—

_“Tooru!”_

_“Hajime,” glazed chestnut eyes looked at him sadly. “It’s okay.”_

—their best friend. Their _partner_.

Hajime exhaled slowly through his nose, making his way to his parked harley. Yeah, he was definitely going to be visiting the Smithsonian later.

* * *

“ _A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of the Captain is one of honor, bravery and sacrifice…”_

By now, Hajime was more than familiar with the lines sounding over the speakers. While his missions in the 40s were no easy feat, he never understood why he was the major focus of the display. He knew far braver people in his time.

As he walked through the exhibit, face covered by a downturned baseball cap, he scanned through the pictures with a heavy heart. In his bomber jacket pockets, his hands were curled in fists, his left holding a compass with metal that seemingly burned his skin.

He stopped in front of a glass placard, a familiar photo and words printed on the surface. Positioned on the right of the glass, a sepia toned photo of Oikawa Tooru was displayed. In the picture, Oikawa was smiling at something in a distance; he wore the standard brown coat with its matching crown visor cap. His hair fell into soft waves, brushing against his skin as his eyes sparkled in mirth.

_“…Best friends since childhood, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Oikawa is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country…"_

Hajime felt tightness in his chest. Pulling the compass from his pocket, he opened it to stare at the battered photograph attached to the lid. It was a photo of him and Oikawa laughing next to each other; Oikawa’s head was turned slightly, eyes shut with his mouth open in a wide grin. In the picture, Hajime’s own soft smile brightened his face, with his eyes glued onto Oikawa with heavy emotion in his eyes.

He shut the compass, pocketing it once more.

He spared one last glance to Oikawa’s display before heading to the small cinema. Taking a seat at the back, few people littered amongst the seats. On screen, his old friend, Commander Irihata, leaned against a desk with folded arms.

 _“Definitely a lot of people believed in Iwaizumi,”_ he said in the video. _“He was a symbol of hope, of course. But before anyone believed in him—even myself, dare say, even his own self—Oikawa believed in him.”_

Hajime closed his eyes tightly, the voice of Irihata becoming white noise to his ears. He remembered the days when he was barely reaching five feet and a hundred pounds, when he got into fights (most which were initiated by himself, but he would never admit that) and was prone to asthma attacks.

_Hajime grunted out a curse as a fist flew at his jaw. With the force of the impact, his body jerked backwards. Stumbling to straighten his stance, he turned his glare to the two men who were smirking. Shaking his head lightly, he raised his fists up._

_“Stupid kid,” one of his attackers hissed. He dodged the weak punch Hajime sent his way, retaliating by shoving him into the pile of trashcans at the end of the alley. “Learn to mind ya’ own goddamn business.”_

_The other man stalked over to ram his foot into Hajime’s ribs, causing a groan to surface from his gritted teeth. The duo merely laughed, getting ready to kick him again._

_“Hey!” A familiar voice hollered into the alley. “Pick on someone your own size, jerk!”_

_The two men stiffened, whipping around with snarls as they greeted the new comer. Walking over to them in uniform with a strut that commanded attention, Oikawa Tooru glared with fire in his eyes. One of the men opened his mouth, but before he had the chance, Tooru rammed his fist into his face._

_Instantly, the man fell backwards, shrieking about a broken nose. His partner gaped at Tooru, with the latter raising a brow as a challenge. Wordlessly, he dropped to his knees, dragging his partner with a bloody nose out the alley. Tooru watched them with dark eyes._

_“I had it handled,” Hajime says gruffly, struggling to stand up. Tooru’s head snapped to him, a small smile on his lips as his eyes flashed into concern. “I’m sure you did,” he commented, walking over to raise Hajime’s arm over his shoulders._

_“You didn’t have to do that,” the shorter man insisted. Tooru merely chuckled, reaching out his hand to firmly grasp the one hanging over his shoulder._

_“No, I didn’t,” he admitted, before smiling at the man by his side. “But I did anyways. I keep telling you, Hajime—“ his hand squeezed the other’s. “—I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”_

* * *

Washijou Tanji walked through the dimly lit halls, a group of men in uniform trailing behind him with guns. His dark eyes were a force to be reckoned with alone, but his agents were something else entirely. Around him, more agents and scientists alike bustled around. Coming to a halt in front of steel double doors, he cracked his neck before the doors slid open.

The room was cold despite the only source coming from a lone door settled in the south wall. The door had a circular window with frost covering it. Through the glass, there was a barely seen pale figure with eyes shut closed.

“Take the asset out,” he ordered. As the doctors in the room began the process of removing the asset from the cryo chamber, he felt himself smirk.

Moments later, the door opened to let a weak, shirtless figure fall to the ground. His hair was cropped messily, long enough for his fringe to cover his eyes. The man on the floor coughed, shivering violently.

Washijou smirked, watching the man set his metal limb on the floor to push himself up. Tired chestnut eyes met his own, seemingly lifeless.

“Soldier?”

One last shiver wrecked through his body.

“ _Ready to comply_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres a lot of dialogue here taken from the actual tws movie, but no worries team ! i think the tws part of the story will only take about 3-5 chapters, then it'll be divergent from the mcu timeline from there. hope u guys enjoyed this!


	3. 1:03 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he could retort, he was startled by three consecutive bangs. In the next second, Ukai had tumbled to the floor, Hajime sparing a quick glance at the window before dragging him to the other room. Ukai grasped his wrist weakly, choking out as he shoved a flash drive into the soldier’s hand.
> 
> “Don’t trust anybody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who left a kudos and comment! you guys motivate me to continue writing this story <3

Hajime felt out of place and at home all at the same time.

He leaned against the door frame with crossed arms, green eyes observing the group seated in a circle. From his place, he had a clear view of Matsukawa, who leaned forward in his chair as one of the women spoke about her recent incident with PTSD. Matsukawa’s gaze was gentle as the woman’s tone became solemn.

“Some stuff you leave there, other stuff you bring back,” he said to the group softly. “It’s our job to figure out how to carry it. Is it gonna be in a big suitcase or in a little man-purse?”

His eyes caught Hajime’s figure in the doorway. “It’s up to you.”

With these words, the group ended the session, beginning to disperse. Donning a light smirk, Matsukawa approached Hajime. “Look who it is,” he drawled. “The running man.”

The captain chuckled, remembering briefly their morning runs around the park where Hajime would pass him multiple times. “Caught the last few minutes of the session,” Hajime said, gaze flickering to the now empty chairs. “It was pretty intense.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa said wistfully. “We all have the same problems, you know? Guilt. Regret.”

“You lose someone?”

“Yeah, my wingman,” he admitted. “Standard rescue op, nothing we hadn’t done a thousand times before. Then RPG knocked him out of the sky—there was nothing I could do. It was like I was just there to watch.”

Hajime’s heart tightened. _It was like I was just there to watch._ In his mind, a memory of a brunet tumbling down the side of the train flashed. He shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

Matsukawa only nodded. “After that, it was hard finding a reason to keep being there, you know?”

 _I know._ “But you’re happy now?” Hajime questioned. “Back in the real world?”

His friend laughed, crossing his arms. “I mean, no one’s giving me orders around here ‘cept me, so hell yeah, man.” His eyes scanned Hajime’s face. “You thinking about getting out?”

Hajime frowned. The military was all he’s ever known. Fighting, wars—he hated to admit it, but he couldn’t imagine living an ordinary life anymore. That dream fell into the trench of a snowy mountain years ago.

“No,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know. To be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if I did.”

“Professional boxing?” Hajime laughed at the thought as Matsukawa shrugged. “The possibilities are endless, man. You could do whatever you wanted to do. What makes you happy?”

_The brunet laughed behind his hand, eyes twinkling with mirth as they watched Hajime. Around them, the noises of the carnival seemed to blur. The world began to slow as he watched Oikawa’s smile light up their surroundings._

Hajime looked away. “I don’t know.”

* * *

As the super soldier exited the elevator leading to his apartment floor, a voice flooded the halls. He slowed his pace, watching as a young man wearing scrubs closed his apartment door with a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. In his hands were a basket of laundry. His hair was a soft taupe, falling into a neat style.

“Friday night?” The man asked into the phone. “Alright, sounds good. See you. Love you. Bye.” The man put his phone on top of the rumpled clothes, gaze meeting Hajime’s.

“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Sorry, that was my boyfriend. Kind of an insomniac.”

Hajime smiled at him. “It’s alright, uh…”

“Yahaba Shigeru,” his neighbour grinned. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are already full.”

“Ah,” he said dumbly. “Well, uh...I won’t take up your time any longer, then. It was nice meeting you, Yahaba.”

“Nice meeting you,” Yahaba replied. The two began parting ways, until the latter turn around to face Hajime once again.

“By the way,” he began, eyes flickering to Hajime’s apartment door. “I think you left your stereo on.”

With that, Yahaba walked away. As he did, Hajime’s shoulders stiffened, thinking about his last statement.

* * *

Hajime quietly slid his window open, entering from the fire escape attached to the building. Below the frame was his shield, which he quickly armed himself with. Soft jazz music played throughout the room, the soldier making his way to hide behind a wall. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner, shield up in defense before he abruptly paused.

Sitting on his couch, staring at him through the dimly lit room, was Ukai Keishin.

He set his shield down, crossing his arms. “I don’t remember giving you a key.”

“You really think I’d need one?” Ukai asked, dryly. He shifted to sit more upright. “My wife kicked me out.”

Hajime frowned. “I didn’t know you had a wife.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Letting out a sigh of annoyance, Hajime turned on the light. “I know. That’s the problem, Ukai—“

His eyes widened. The director’s face was swollen, right eye turning a dark shade of purple. His lip was split with dried blood matting the bottom of his nose. Ukai lifted a finger to his lips before turning off the lamp beside him once more. Hajime watched as the blonde typed on his phone before showing it to him.

 _Ears everywhere._ Ukai retracted his phone, typing again as he began to speak. “Sorry about coming in uninvited, I had nowhere else to go.”

His phone flipped to show Hajime the screen once more. _SHIELD compromised._

He looked at the director’s beaten face once again. “Who else knows about your wife?”

 _You and me._ “Just…my friends.”

Hajime’s gut twisted. He had a bad feeling about this. “Is that what we are?”

The older man began to stand. “That’s up to you.”

Before he could retort, he was startled by three consecutive bangs. In the next second, Ukai had tumbled to the floor, Hajime sparing a quick glance at the window before dragging him to the other room. Ukai grasped his wrist weakly, choking out as he shoved a flash drive into the soldier’s hand.

“ _Don’t trust anybody._ ”

His heart was racing as he watched the director lose consciousness with wide eyes. The door suddenly slammed open, Hajime startling as he tried to reach for his shield. Yahaba entered swiftly, scanning his surroundings with a gun raised before looking back at Hajime.

“Captain Iwaizumi?” He approached the two men, kneeling down beside Ukai. “I’m Agent Six of SHIELD Special Service.”

By now, Hajime was only beginning to settle from the whiplash he acquired from the suddenness of the last few minutes. “Yahaba?” His brows furrowed.

“I’m assigned to protect you.”

“On whose orders?” He demanded.

Yahaba glances at Ukai’s unmoving figure. “His.”

His neighbour then fishes out a radio from the pockets of his scrubs. “The crow is down,” he says into it. “He’s unresponsive. I need EMTs.”

Hajime catches a blur of black and a glint of silver pass his window. He stands, already grabbing his shield as he hears the agent on the other side of the radio inquire about the attacker.

“Tell him I’m in pursuit.”

With that, Hajime bolts after the figure, smashing through his window. He jumps to the next building, raising his shield in front of his body as he runs through the walls of every room. Around him, plaster and dust fly, his eyes barely recognizing the silver glint of the assassin meters ahead of him.

The two reach the next building’s rooftop, Hajime thrusting all his power to throw his shield at the attacker. The tall figure stops, spinning around to swiftly grab the edge of the shield. For the first time, Hajime gets a clear view of the man.

He has a strong build, standing an inch taller than the super soldier. He’s wearing tactical gear, multiple weapons attached to different holsters. Hajime can see slivers of pale skin, half hidden by the mask covering his lower face. Around his eyes, black paint is smudged messily.

Hajime grows cold as he looks deeper into the assassin’s eyes. They seemed lifeless, tired, and blank. With a flick of his wrist, the disc was thrown back to the captain, who caught it as he stumbled back from the force.

He watched helplessly as the assassin jumped over the ledge, disappearing into the night.

* * *

Hajime stood perfectly still in front of the viewing window. His fingers tapped noiselessly on his bicep as his arms were crossed. Faintly, he heard the door open as a familiar figure went to stand next to him.

“Is he gonna make it?” Hanamaki asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he admits. It was true. The wounds reached lethal areas, and before that, Ukai was already injured. The two watched as the nurses and doctors surrounded the director.

“Tell me about the shooter.”

“He’s fast and he’s strong.” He remembered the silver appendage that caught his shield easily. “Had a metal arm.”

Another figure entered the room, moving to stand beside Hanamaki. Takeda fiddled with his fingers, watching apprehensively as the man he was right hand for laid on the operation table. Hanamaki sent him a glance. “Ballistics?”

“Three slugs, no rifling. Completely untraceable,” Takeda replies monotonely.

“Soviet-made,” the pink haired man notes. Takeda only nods in agreement.

Their conversation is cut short by the sudden exclamations of the doctors. The medical workers crowd around Ukai, shifting between monitoring his slowing heartbeat and utilizing the defibrillator.

“Don’t do this to me, Keishin,” whispers Hanamaki.

Moments of panicked movements later, the doctors share a glance. “No pulse,” one says. Two more parrot his statement in confirmation. They quickly attempt at reviving him as they up the charge of the machine.

“Don’t do this to me, Keishin. Don’t do this to me.”

Suddenly, the workers come to a stop, bodies stiff. The monitor continues letting out a prolonged whine, signalling the flatline.

“Time of death, 1:03 AM.”

Hanamaki lets out a shaky breath before leaving the room. Beside him, Takeda remains unmoving. Hajime’s fist clenches around the flash drive Ukai had given him, giving his body one last look before following his friend.

An hour later, Hajime stands behind Hanamaki as the latter weeps silently. In front of them is Ukai’s body covered by a blanket. The tension in the air is thick and solemn.

Suddenly, Takeda enters the room. Hajime glances at him, brows furrowing at the calmness the shorter man exuded. He always knew Takeda was a stoic person, but he expected more emotion from him once Ukai passed.

“I need to take him,” Takeda announced, eyes set on Hanamaki’s figure. Wordlessly, Hanamaki touches Ukai’s forehead before exiting the room.

“Hanamaki,” Hajime called, following him. “Takahiro!”

He abruptly turns, glaring at Hajime. “Why was Ukai in your apartment?”

“I don’t know—“

“Cap, they want you back at SHIELD.”

Hajime and Hanamaki paused, looking at who interrupted their conversation. Standing in full gear, Ushijima Wakatoshi stares at them with his signature blank face.

“Yeah, give me a second,” Hajime starts, turning to look at Hanamaki again.

“They want you now,” Ushijima repeats.

“Okay,” he replies, exasperated.

Hanamaki only spares him another glare. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Letting out another sigh—he’s been doing that a lot, really—he watches his friend leave. As he does so, his attention shifts to the vending machine settled in the side of the hallway. For a moment, he stares at one of the products that have a familiar shape. He moves toward it, tinkering with the machine.

Moments after, the STRIKE team agent shifts in impatience. “Let’s go,” Ushijima calls. Hajime approaches him again, nodding wordlessly.

Behind them, the vending machine held a new item unlike the rest.

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime was having a rough day.

First of all, he had about an hour of sleep. It wasn’t taking a toll on him as much as it would on a regular person (super soldier perks), but after the events of yesterday and today’s morning, he was on edge. He was in his stealth suit, a version of the captain’s normal get up that was a deep navy with dull silver detailing on the chest. He had just returned from Secretary Washijou Tanji’s office, where he ran into Agent Six, who he bitterly greeted.

His encounter with Washijou wasn’t pleasant, either. After a passive aggressive exchange with the secretary hiding an interrogation underneath stories of him and Ukai’s past, Washijou had threatened him.

_“Captain, you were the last one to see Ukai alive. I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either.” His eyes hardened. “So I'm gonna ask again—why was he there?”_

_Hajime met his gaze with an equally hard stare. “He told me not to trust anyone.”_

_“I wonder if that included him,” Washijou says slyly._

Before Hajime had left his office, the older man left him with a statement that translated into a warning.

_“Somebody murder my friend and I’m going to find out why,” Washijou’s voice stopped the soldier from leaving. “If anyone gets in my way, they’re going to regret it. Anyone.”_

The captain let out a huff of breath, entering the elevator. He wasn’t scared of Washijou, but he would be stupid not to recognize the danger that he brought with him. Washijou commanded basically the whole SHIELD DC branch, and more. He had connections Hajime didn’t even know of. In the back of his mind, he also had a strong inkling that Ukai’s last words had something to do with the secretary.

His train of thought stopped once the elevator doors opened, revealing Ushijima and two other STRIKE team agents. Ushijima’s brown eyes are hard; from his gaze alone, Hajime already stands tall, ready to attack.

“Captain,” The agent greets.

Hajime nods. “Ushijima.”

The metal of his shield feels prominent against his back. He had a feeling he would be needing it soon.

“Evidence Response found some fibres on the roof they want us to see. You want me to get the tac-team ready?” Ushijima suddenly says.

The captain shakes his head, still stiff. “No, lets wait and see what it is first.”

“…Right.”

One of Ushijima’s agents’ hands reaches for his gun. It was subtle, but it caught Hajime’s eye. His stare flickered back to the elevator doors, reopening to allow more agents to enter.

Once again, the tall brunet looks at Hajime. “I’m sorry about what happened to Ukai.” He didn't sound sorry at all. “It was terrible, what happened to him.”

“Thank you,” Hajime replied flatly.

Again, the door opens. More agents trickle in until the elevator is packed with Hajime in the middle. It’s silent, and Hajime’s gaze is zeroed in on the sweating agent in front of him. He shifts his weight, squaring his shoulders as his fingers graze the shield attached on his back.

“Before we get started,” he began. He looked around at the agents, counting nine. “Does anyone want to get out?”

A beat of silence passed. Suddenly, the man in front of him whirls around, branding an electric rod crackling and glowing. Hajime throws himself back to avoid it, raising his shield before the agents behind him grabbed him to pin him to the wall. One of the men detaches the handle of his brief case, a metal cuff in his hand that he quickly wraps onto one of the captain’s gloved hands. He faintly hears a thud on the wall, the elevator halting immediately.

Hajime lets out a grunt, an agent pushing another rod to electrocute his abdomen. He feels someone behind him take his shield as the cuff on his left wrist is being draw to the wall of the elevator. He hisses, trying to fight the magnetic attraction. The agent behind him holds him in chokehold, making his face scrunch up. From his other side, another tries to put his other wrist in a cuff as well. Before he can, Hajime shoves his left arm with all his might, breaking the connection as he punches an agent simultaneously. Another moves to attack him again, which the captain trips by swiping his legs with his own.

He quickly elbows the agent attempting to cuff his right wrist, the metal flying to stick itself to the wall. More agents come at him from the front; he kicks one in the face as he elbows another. Then, he abruptly throws his head back, hearing a crunch as the agent choking him loses his hold. Grabbing the arm around his neck, he flips him over his shoulder onto another oncoming attacker.

There are two agents left standing. Ushijima glares at him, wielding his own electric rod. The STRIKE team leader kicks the arm Hajime had outstretched to grab him, making the cuff on his wrist attach him to the wall. He pulls at his forearm frantically to free himself, head whipping around to hear the static of the rod turning on. Ushijima digs the weapon into his shoulder, Hajime groaning as his body shook with electricity.Gritting his teeth, he pulls his elbow back to ram it into Ushijima’s jaw.

The other man surges forward. With his free hand, he grabs the agent’s collar and throws him at the area of the elevator that holds the security camera. Around him, three men already begin to get up, all attempting to grab him once again. Two men come from either of his sides, one with the electric rod. God, he hated that thing. He pulls at the arm holding the weapon, shoving it so it electrocutes the other agent. Using the hand pinned to the wall by the cuff as an anchor, he lifts his body up before kicking them both with spread legs.

A man in front of him attempts to grab Hajime’s neck. Before he does so, the captain grabs his wrist, twisting it as he hears the man shout. In his momentary surprise, he quickly reaches his leg up to hit his jaw. While he hears more agents struggling to get up, Hajime turns around and puts his legs against the wall. Gritting his teeth, he pulls at the wrist attached to the wall.

In the next second, his hand is detached. Backflipping to land on his feet, he kicks the head of a standing agent in the process. The last two agents standing both receive an elbow and a kick to the head, respectively. He turns, watching as Ushijima cautiously stands with two rods on either hand.

“Captain Iwaizumi,” he says, frown already prominent. “I hope you know this isn’t personal.”

With the last word, he shoves his hand out, Hajime dodging the first attack. With the raised hand, the captain grabs his wrist. Ushijima then shoves his free hand into Hajime’s stomach, making him yell. He uses his other hand to push the arm in his grasp so Ushijima loses momentum. With a grunt, Ushijima’s other hand is captured, yet his other hand is free once more. Another rod is sent to electrocute his stomach. Letting out one last yell, he forcefully brings down his raised arm to ram his elbow against Ushijima’s neck. The STRIKE agent falls, dropping the rods. Hajime grabs his arms before throwing him upwards, Ushijima crashing into the overhead lights with glass and static falling as he did.

Hajime pants, looking at the floor around him. Agents are passed out, some bloody and most bruised. “It kinda feels personal,” he hisses.

Beside his foot is his shield, which he steps on to flip upward to attach to his arm. Using the edge, he cuts of the cuff on his wrist. Sighing, he reaches forward to open the doors of the elevator.

What greeted him was a team of two dozen armed men. “Stop! Put your hands in the air!” One yelled.

Hajime watched them cautiously before spinning around. His shield then rams through the glass of the elevator’s side, cutting the mechanical rope. As a result, the elevator begins to rapidly descend.

Using the emergency response, the elevator eventually anchors itself in between two floors. Hajime stumbles, fingers latching on the bit of the elevator doors of the upper floor. However, when he opens it, he sees more armed men running to his position.

He quickly closes the door, cursing. He looks to the east wall, gripping onto the metal railing as he glances at the height he was in. Below him, the glass roof of the lobby stood. Letting out a breath, he turns to walk to the west wall, back facing where he previously stood.

“Give it up, Iwaizumi! Get that door open!”

Taking one last inhale, he whirls around with his shield in front of his body. He then runs at the east wall with all his might, feeling the glass shatter around him as wind began to whistle in his ears. His heart dropped as he fell through the glass ceiling, landing roughly on the ground amongst shards of glass and metal.

He groaned in pain, gathering his bearings for a moment before stumbling upwards. Around him, people were beginning to run away in panic. He shook his head, beginning to bolt towards the garage.

The moment he got there, he quickly mounted one of SHIELD’s motorcycles, revving it before pushing it to full speed. As he was on the road, he saw the gates begin to close. Before they could shut fully, Hajime accelerated, managing to escape by a hair. Beside him, a sudden gush of air blasted, a quinjet making a u-turn to greet him by the edge of the gate. Dust blowed into his face, making him squint.

“Stand down, Captain Iwaizumi. _Stand down._ ”

The quinjet dropped its machine gun, the metal whirling around it as it prepared to fire. In response, Hajime sped his motorcycle to go as fast as it could, leaning in both directors as he waved through the bullets coming his way. Grabbing the shield on his back, his threw it at the aircraft wherein it landed on the turbine.

At this, the bullets ceased with the quinjet lowering its side with the shield. Hajime grabbed the handles tightly, standing on the motorcycle for a moment before it tipped over, allowing him to surge forward in a dive to the aircraft. He tumbled over the glass covering the cockpit, making his way to the turbine where he retched out his shield. The quinjet abruptly lurched onto its side, making Hajime airborne for a moment before he anchored himself with his shield o the edge.

Swinging his legs for momentum, he grunted as he lifted his body in a flip to land on the back of the plane. Throwing his shield, it hit one of the tails before ricocheting on its twin. As fire begin to blaze from the hit areas, he dived once again to jump off the quinjet and catch his shield, landing on one knee with the disc digging into the ground.

Hajime spared no glances at the aircraft that twirled away to crash into the bridge.

It really was a rough day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope i'm doing a decent job at writing this aaaa but can i just say the elevator scene took SO MUCH out of me like holy f i had to watch the scene for reference like 18 times rip. anyways! if u didnt notice i made yahaba agent 6 instead of agent 13 because 6 is his jersey number AYOOOOO also instead of referring to ukai as "foxtrot" as they did in the movie i referred to him as the crow hehe. how do yall feel about ushijima's role? i know its kinda antagonizing to make him rumlow and i love ushijima but MAN idk its lowkey fitting. just lowkey.
> 
> also i'd like to apologize for the lack of oikawa in this chapter. i promise yall the next chapter is gonna be fun af, we'll have more hanamaki and a matsuhana meeting with more oikawa scenes as well.


	4. Ghost Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sighed. “I can’t do this to you, Matsukawa. You got out for a good reason.”
> 
> “Dude,” the man in question scoffed. “The Captain and Black Widow need my help. What better reason could there be?”

Hajime wore his comfiest, most casual looking hoodie, and a pair of jeans. On his feet were white branded sneakers, ones he rarely used but were gifted to him by Nishinoya, who insisted it was _trendy_. His hood was tugged over his tousled dark hair, and his hands were in his jacket pockets.

Trudging through the halls of the hospital, he looked utterly normal. Usually, even in civilian attire, Hajime would stand out. His posture and physique alone commanded presence, but right now, as he hunched his shoulders and tilted his chin downwards, he blended in.

Eyes catching sight of the vending machine from the other day, he rushed towards it. However, once he was in front of the glass, he watched as his reflection froze and a chill ran down his spine. There, where the flash drive once was hidden behind rows of gum, was an empty, out of stock, row.

Another reflection stalked behind him. Hanamaki, donning a similar attire, smirked at him before blowing a bubble with pink gum. Hajime hissed, whirling around to hook his arm around the assassin and shove him into an empty storage room.

He pushed him against the wall, glowering down at him. “Where is it?”

“Safe.”

“Do better!” Hajime seethed.

“Where did you get it?”

“Why would I tell you?”

Despite Hanamaki’s calm tone, his eyes were calculating. Studying. Analyzing. Behind those emotions was something bigger—caution. Never has Hanamaki ever looked at him with such a gaze; it made Hajime uncomfortable. Hanamaki was his friend, but…

_“Don’t trust anyone,” Ukai choked out._

Could he trust him?

“Ukai gave it to you,” Hanamaki noted coldly. “Why?”

 _He knows something_. “What’s on it?” He demanded.

“I don’t know.”

Hajime slammed his hand on the wall beside the pink haired man’s head. “Stop lying!”

In response, Hanamaki only leaned his head toward Hajime’s outstretched hand with a wry smile. “I only _act_ like I know everything, Iwaizumi.”

Sighing, he took a step back, placing his hands on his hips. “I bet you knew about the pirates.”

The other man shurgged. “It makes sense, I mean—Ukai needed a way in, so did you.”

A beat of silence passed them. “I’m not going to ask again,” he warned.

Hanamaki let out a huff of defeat, crossing his arms and averting his gaze. “I know who killed Ukai,” he admitted. A memory of a silver glint shinning in the night flashed in Hajime’s mind as the assassin continued.

“Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He’s been credited with over two dozen assassinations over the last fifty years.”

“So he’s a ghost story,” Hajime bitterly concluded.

“Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa,” Hanamaki began. “We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.”

He raised the hem of his shirt, an ugly scar covering a small spot on his toned abdomen showing before he dropped the cloth. “Soviet slug, no riflings,” he said, the same description Takeda gave them days ago.

Hajime shut his eyes tightly as Hanamaki continued. “Going after him is a dead end. I know, I’ve tried,” he sighed, lifting the flash drive. “Like you said, he’s a ghost story.”

Opening his eyes once more, he stared at the assassin for a moment before taking the small device. “Well,” he turned to face the door. “Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

* * *

He was HYDRA’s strongest fist.

The serum running through his veins made him incredibly strong; he was lethal, being so stealthy yet powerful. His accuracy in aiming any weapon was spot-on; there was almost no limit to what he could wield. Even without his limb, he could take down a room full of men. He was submissive in nature, never straying away from orders and taking every hit with a steady stance.

He was HYDRA’s strongest fist. Unfortunately for them, he was also their greatest issue.

The first time they wiped him, they were pleased to see that he had become a shell of the man he’d once been. He used to be a young, bright-eyed, and flirty stud, but after the amputation of his arm and the trials of memory wiping, he was reduced to a quiet soldier who stared blankly and took orders like gospel. What HYDRA couldn’t foresee was the stubbornness of his memories that seemingly returned by the simplest trigger.

The first incident occurred after one of his first few missions. Upon returning, his metal arm had required maintenance. He sat on the metal chair, arm propped on the rest, silent as usual. He was never to speak unless spoken to, and even then, he was ordered to bite his tongue.

And then he heard it. A guard passing the room he was in, talking to his companions. With the serum, his hearing was advanced, meaning he could hear slivers of their conversation. Usually, it wouldn’t matter to him, but two sudden words made him snap.

 _“_ Yeah, from the second world war _…Oikawa Tooru…_ ”

In an instant, his left arm shot out, choking the technician working on the metal. He threw him to the wall, panting heavily as he ignored the guards who flooded in upon hearing the commotion. His lungs tightened, eyes blurring as he tried to suck in breaths.

_Oikawa Tooru. Oikawa Tooru. Oikawa Tooru._

In HYDRA, he was only referred to as three things: the Asset, the Winter Soldier, and _soldat_. He was not some _one,_ he was some _thing._ Rights to choose, to speak, to feel freely were luxuries he had never known in his time with the organization. Emotions were limited to confusion, apathy, pain, and sometimes, the sweet taste of wonder or curiosity. He had never owned anything that he knew of; even his weapons were replaced each time he had emerged from the ice. He had no belongings and he had nowhere to belong to. He was merely an item, a pawn on their board, ready to be utilized then stored away.

The soldier remained tense yet motionless as the guards restrained him, shoving his face onto the concrete floor. An electric rod tased his side, which his body involuntarily convulsed at. Still, he remained quiet, thoughts racing.

 _Oikawa Tooru._ He shut his eyes. _That’s my name._

Despite the pain coursing through his veins, he felt a bubble in his chest begin to form. Letting out a shaky exhale, he began to breath properly as they escorted him out the room. Head facing down, he couldn’t help but feel something new. Another emotion.

Happiness? What he felt was certainly akin to it, but not as extreme. In reality, he wouldn’t truly know whether it was happiness or not, for he had no idea what that emotion entailed. All he knew was that he felt _something_ in his chest upon realizing he did, in fact, have a something he could call his own.

 _He had a name._ And despite how small it could seem, it had meant so much to him.

He couldn’t explain how he knew it was his name. Perhaps it was the gut feeling of familiarity, or the drop of his heart. He couldn’t explain how he knew because he just _did._ In the corners of his mind, he could hear different voices whispering it. A woman’s gentle tone—a mother, maybe?—and an affectionate voice of a young man.

_“Until the end of the line, Tooru.”_

Before he could try to remember them, he was shoved into the chair. Immediately, metal cuffs circled his arms, leg, and torso. His jaw was pulled, a mouthguard being forcefully shoved into his mouth. His eyes continued to be glued shut, feeling the press of the metal contraption lowering firmly onto his face.

As his screams and cries echoed throughout the room, the Asset began to slowly forget those two words once again.

* * *

It seemed that the more time that progressed between Hajime and Hanamaki, the more patience he lost. And braincells. Really, Hanamaki was one of the most intimidating _and_ intelligent peoplehe knew of—he could kill someone with his thighs _alone,_ for Christ’s sake.

Nevertheless, he was sure that he was moments away from combusting. Hanamaki was greater than a handful. In the past few hours, the two had had to blend within the mall crowds, handle an awkward conversation with an Apple store employee named Aaron, and Hajime had to steal—sorry, _borrow_ —a car that they were currently using to drive to New Jersey.

Did he mention Hanamaki kissed him?

Seriously, there was no doubt that the assassin was part of the small group of people who could actually take down the Captain. Still, Hajime would try. His patience was dangerously near breaking point.

After another awkward conversation—at least for Hajime, since Hanamaki seemed amused—his pink haired friend finally fell asleep on the passenger seat. Silence blanketed the two, the quiet hum of the car floating through the atmosphere as white noise. Moments ago, the tingling in Hajime’s lips had finally stopped.

At first, he was confused as to why his mouth felt odd in the first place. Subsequent to an existential crisis, Hajime had realized he _definitely_ did not like Hanamaki in that way. In all honesty, his statement earlier was a (very embarrassing) lie. When the latter asked if that was his first kiss since the fourties, Hajime said no.

Even in the past, Hajime wasn’t really interested in romance. He didn’t give a second look at girls, and even with the modern age’s acceptance of all kinds of love, he didn’t feel like giving boys and everything in between a second look either. Every time the opportunity of a new lover presented itself to him, every time Hanamaki and Sugawara tried to set him up, he never took it. The person never seemed to fit him in the way he knew someone else already did.

He sighed, hands adjusting their grip on the wheel. He had to accept that someone else wasn’t with him anymore. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, he had to.

Still, there was a whisper in his heart reminding him again that no one will be for him the same way _he_ was. The words of Commander Irihata in his interview in the Smithsonian came flooding back to him.

_“But before anyone believed in him—even myself, dare say, even his own self—Oikawa believed in him.”_

* * *

The Asset sat quietly in the wooden chair, black attire making him blend in with the shadows. On the table, his left arm was propped up with a gun inches away from it. The gun was mandatory protocol, something ingrained in him so roughly that it remained in his memories regardless of the wipes he would go through.

_Always present a weapon to your handler._

It was a sign of respect, but most importantly, a sign of submission. It was a power play, a prominent reminder that his superiors can, should, and _will_ incapacitate him when necessary. It was a warning to remain quiet.

Washijou stalked into the kitchen, thick eyebrows raising in surprise upon seeing the soldier. Before he could say anything, a female voice calls out from the front door.

“I’m going to go, Washijou-san. Do you need anything before I leave?”

The older man continued staring at the Asset as he replied. “No, uh…it’s fine, Akari, you can go home.”

“Okay! Night-night!”

Washijou bid her a goodnight before moving to open his fridge. “Want some milk?” He asked, taking out a carton then pulling out a glass from the cupboard. The Asset remained quiet as Washijou began to pour the drink.

“The timetable has moved. Our window is limited. Two targets, Level Six,” he said, approaching the table the Winter Soldier sat at. “They already cost me Zola. I want confirmed death in ten hours—“

“Sorry, Washijou-san, I forgot my…” His housekeeper suddenly appeared in the mouth of the kitchen, trailing off with wide eyes as she took in the scene before her. “…Phone…”

Washijou sighs in annoyance, shaking his head. “Oh Akari,” he chides, reaching over for the gun. “I wish you would have knocked.”

Akari’s scream of terror was cut off by three consecutive bangs.

* * *

Matsukawa Issei was having an average morning.

He had just returned from his morning run, mouth opened with breathy exhales still coming out. His shirt was matted with sweat along with his hair. As he began pouring himself a glass of orange juice, he suddenly heard a knock on his door. Who the hell was visiting him at six in the morning?

Moving to lift the blinds covering the glass door, he jolted in surprise upon seeing who was on his doorstep. Quickly, he slid the door open.

“Uh, hey man,” Issei stuttered. In short, the two figures on his doorstep were two of Earth’s mightiest heroes. And they looked like shit.

“I’m sorry about this,” Iwaizumi said roughly. “We need a place to lay low.”

Hanamaki Takahiro—a (stunning) man who he had only met once through an open car window—piped up beside him. “Yeah, everyone we know is trying to kill us.”

Issei paused, taking in their current state. Both of them were covered in soot and dirt, blooming bruises appearing on some areas of Hanamaki’s skin. They looked exhausted.

“Not everyone,” he finalized, stepping aside to let them in his house. After they entered, he slid the door shut, scanning the streets outside his home before closing the blinds once again.

Issei seated Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, insisting they drink a glass of water (orange juice for Hanamaki as well, apparently) first before cleaning themselves up. As Issei prepared the glasses, Iwaizumi gave him a rundown on the events that have occurred in the past few days.

“So let me get this straight,,” Issei began, setting the glasses in front of them. “Director Ukai got shot by a ghost assassin, SHIELD is compromised, and a few hours ago, you were in New Jersey where you spoke with a European scientist whose conscience had been uploaded to a computer before SHIELD, now HYDRA, bombed your location.” He raised a brow. “Did I get that right?”

Iwaizumi nodded, putting down a now empty glass. Hanamaki merely smirked before looking at the soldier next to him and back at Issei.

“You're surprisingly calm,” he noted.

“Could be worse,” the owner of the house shrugged. “At least there’s no aliens.”

Hanamaki let out a loud laugh. “I like him,” he declared.

When Issei winked at him, his smirk only widened into a toothy grin. Iwaizumi looked uncomfortable, grimacing at the new potential headache that came with introducing these two.

“Uh, sorry, but do you have somewhere we can clean up?” He asked awkwardly.

“Oh yeah,” Issei nodded, “come with me.”

Later, as Issei finished setting the food on the table, he lingered in the hallway upon hearing parts of Iwaizumi and Hanamaki’s conversation from the guest room.

“If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?”

Hanamaki’s tone sounded genuinely curious, but another emotion hung heavily underneath it. _Sadness. Gratitude_.

A moment passed.

“I would now. And I'm always honest,” Iwaizumi finally said.

As they exchanged more words, Issei made his way to his own bedroom. At the back of his closet sat a small rectangular safe, which he hesitantly opened. Reaching for the contents, he bit his lip. It had been a while since he’s ever opened this safe, and even longer since he had actually held the envelope in his hands once again.

He sighed, walking to the guest room once more.

“I made breakfast,” he announced before scrunching his brows. Did superheroes even do such mundane things? “…If you guys eat that sort of thing,” he added.

After settling into the kitchen and dining area, Issei leaned on the counter, watching as Hanamaki and Iwaizumi discussed their next move. Behind him, hidden from the view of the two other men, was the envelope he had held moments before.

“So, the question is: who in SHIELD could launch a domestic missile strike?” Hanamaki wondered.

“Washijou,” Iwaizumi answered instantly.

“Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world.”

“But he's not working alone, Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

Hanamaki was quiet for a moment. “The Lemurian Star was full of technicians,” he noted. “Except for one officer, remember?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “Tendou Satori. So he’s our man.” The soldier then frowned. “So, the _real_ question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight?”

Issei exhaled, taking a hold of the documents before dropping it in front of them. “The answer is: you don’t.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “What’s this?”

“Call it a resume.”

“Is this Bakhmala? The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you,” Hanamaki says, looking through the files before glancing at Iwaizumi. “You didn’t say he was a para-rescue. I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs,” the pink haired man looks up at Issei. “What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“Nope,” Issei opens one of the smaller envelopes, revealing more photos. “We used these.”

“I thought you said you were a pilot,” Iwaizumi deadpanned.

“I never said a pilot.”

He sighed. “I can’t do this to you, Matsukawa. You got out for a good reason.”

“Dude,” the man in question scoffed. “The Captain and Black Widow need my help. What better reason could there be?”

* * *

When the Asset wasn’t on missions or in the cryo chamber, he was in his cell.

In more ways than one, he really _was_ HYDRA’s prisoner. The cell was an old, dingy room with a small bathroom attached to it. Its walls and floorings had scrapes, seemingly inflicted by him when he had his night terrors or when his memories came flooding back. Against the west wall was a single cot, and underneath it were haggard carvings done by a metal finger.

The carvings always confused him. He knew he put it them there, but he never knew what they meant. They weren’t for HYDRA’s eyes—they were hidden, after all. The words engraved were barely legible, and many of them didn’t even _seem_ like words. Names, maybe.

As the Asset sat on the floor of his cell, he traced the letters of a word that was rewritten multiple times over the small space hidden by the bed.

 _Hajime_. He didn’t know who the name belonged to, but he concluded it was someone important to him from the amount of times he had wrote it in the past. That, and there was a sinking feeling in his stomach whenever he read it.

Hearing footsteps nearing his cell, he took his place on the bed once again. The door opened to reveal Ushijima Wakatoshi, someone who has handled him on multiple occasions. Behind Ushijima were a handful of more agents, all of them armed.

“Take him,” the man ordered. “Prep him for another mission.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i haven't updated in a hot minute ! my country kinda went to shit so it was kinda hard to focus. also, there's about 2-3 chapters left for the winter soldier arc, which is good bc finally i wont have to depend heavily on tws script!! i feel really bad about using some of the dialogue but its essential for the story. when the winter soldier arc ends, we'll see a lot more of iwaoi and the other hq characters i mentioned in the first chapter (and more!) 
> 
> ALSO CAN I JUST. im thinking that, once i end this book, ill have a bonus chapter (just a oneshot) of oikawa as captain america and iwaizumi as the winter soldier. MAN THE FLAVOUR. i am excited already. 
> 
> can i just add i have a folder of notes full of headcanons for stucky!iwaoi when they reunite. LORD HELP US ALL. these bitches really be gay and honestly? good for them! good for them.
> 
> also did you guys like matsukawas pov? whenever i do povs, ill refer to the character in question by their first name. im trying to keep it mostly to iwaoi, but i think its important also to incorporate mattsuns perspective esp as hes being introduced to the story as falcon. also it HURTS whenever i refer to oikawa as just his titles from HYDRA, but since its his pov, he really doesnt know his name. other than that, i also changed the name of washijous housekeeper as i thought it was weird to have a character with a non-japanese name. i think the only person who isnt japanese in this fic will be zola.
> 
> ps: yes its kinda weird theyre all japanese but in america pls bear with me
> 
> thank you for all the support! i'll try to update faster this time hehe :—)


	5. The Man on the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…Tooru?” He whispered, brows scrunched and mouth open. He could feel a burning pressure behind his eyes.
> 
> The man’s—no, Oikawa’s—eyes flashed. “Who the hell is Tooru?”

It was late afternoon when Tendou Satori stalked out the building with Senator Hayato by his side. Around them, the politician’s bodyguards lingered, as well as their other colleagues. Hayato was rambling about a way-too-young-for-him reporter while Tendou answered him absentmindedly.

The senator suddenly touches Tendou’s chest, fingers grazing the silver pin attached to his lapel. “This is a nice pin,” he notes.

“Thank you,” Tendou replies icily.

Hayato’s smile is so utterly plastic it’s almost _mocking_. “Come here,” he says, pulling the redhead into an embrace. “Hail HYDRA,” he whispered before pulling back.

Before the two could continue their conversation, Tendou’s phone began to ring. On the screen, the contact information showcased _Washijou Tanji._ “I have to take this,” he said apologetically, to which the senator waved off before bidding a farewell.

“Agent Tendou! How was lunch?”

Tendou stiffens upon hearing the unfamiliar voice. “Who is this?”

“Handsome guy in the sunglasses at your ten o’clock.”

The agent shifts his gaze, his eyes landing on a seated Matsukawa who held his drink up upon meeting his stare.

“What do you want?”

“You're gonna go around the corner, to your right. There's a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride.”

“And why would I do that?”

“‘Cause that tie looks _really_ nice and expensive. Purple’s your color, man, I’d hate to mess that up.”

He tenses, glancing down at his necktie. On it, there’s a distinctive red laser dot placed. He shivers, taking one last glance at the seated man before heading to the direction he pointed himto.

* * *

One short car ride with Tendou complaining in the backseat beside Hanamaki (who did not help, adding to the fire by retorting with smartass remarks) later, he and Hajime had shoved the redhead across the rooftop of one of the city’s buildings.

“Tell me about Zola’s algorithim,” Hajime said lowly.

“Never heard of it,” Tendou sniffed.

“What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?”

The man being interrogated merely smirked, tilting his head. “Throwing up. Seasickness is a terrible thing to have, you know—“

Hajime grabs his collar, dragging him to the edge of the roof. Tendou’s feet barely touched the surface of the ledge, yet he looked fearless all the same.

“You gonna throw me off the roof, Hajime-kun? It’s not really your style.”

Forcing a smile, Hajime sets him down, smoothening his wrinkled shirt. “You’re right,” he admits, taking a step back. “It’s his.”

Before Tendou could act, Hanamaki kicked his chest, sending him falling as he screamed. The two merely watched his figure before the pink haired man broke the silence.

“Hey, what do you think about Suga’s assistant, Shi-Shinimi—“

“Shimizu Kiyoko? Beauty mark on her chin?”

“Yeah. She’s cute.”

“Hmm, I prefer brunets.” A beat passed. “And she’s dating Yachi from marketing.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, Matsukawa comes soaring from the ground they had just tossed Tendou in. The latter was dropped from his grasp as Matsukawa safely landed a few feet away. The redhead was panting, holding his hands up in defeat. “Zola's algorithm is a program for choosing Insight's targets!”

“What targets?” Hajime demanded, walking towards him with Hanamaki by his side.

“You! A national team volleyball player, the prince of Nekoma, a high schooler in Brooklyn, Azumane Asahi, Kozume Kenma—anyone who’s a threat to HYDRA! Now or in the future.”

“The future?” Hanamaki frowned. “How could it know?”

“How could it not?” Tendou spat, scrambling to get up. “The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught HYDRA how to read it.”

Hajime and Hanamaki shared a confused look as the agent continued. “Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores. Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future.”

“What then?” Hajime prompted.

“Fuck, Washijo’s gonna go after my ass,” Tendou groaned, looking down.

“ _What then?_ ” He repeated. The redhead sighed, finally meeting the captain’s eyes with fire in his own.

“Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”

After getting their answers on the rooftop, the four men were packed inside Matsukawa’s car. Admittedly, their plan was very last minute, but they had no time to lose. The threat of Project Insight massacring millions of people for being different made his gut clench. Along with that, Hajime knew for a fact that all his friends, considering their profession and abilities, would undoubtedly be crossed off HYDRA’s target list.

His heart stuttered upon thinking of Hinata, Kageyama, and Tsukishima. They were so _young_ , only teenagers. Despite Hinata’s constant energy and speeding, Kageyama accidental mind reading and tendancy to move things unconsciously with his powers, and Tsukishima’s freaky habit of falling asleep on the goddamn _ceiling_ , they were just kids. Teenagers. All of them had faced so much pain already just trying to survive, with Hinata and Kageyama’s past being experimented on by HYDRA and the murder of Tsukishima’s parents and uncle.

They didn’t deserve this. The dynamic duo still had so much left to do—they haven’t returned to high school, for Christ’s sake—and the blonde hasn’t confessed to his freckled Decathlon team captain, as far as Hajime knew. They shouldn’t have to die because they were different.

“Insight is going to launch in sixteen hours—we’re cutting it a bit close, here,” noted Hanamaki.

“I know,” he sighed. “We'll use Tendou to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly.”

“What?!” The officer shrieked, lurching forward to grasp the passenger seat Hajime was in. Hanamaki hissed at him, shoving him back into his seat beside him. “Are you crazy? That’s a terrible, terrible idea!” He continued.

Matsukawa opened his mouth to remark, but the conversation was cut off by a sudden thud on the roof and the crashing of a metal arm in the window. The arm latched onto Tendou’s shoulder, ripping him out of the car and behind them. In the rearview mirror, Hajime caught a glimpse of one of SHIELD’s cars opening, with Ushijima popping out to grab the redhead before he could get run over.

From the roof of the car, bullets came raining as the three remaining men began yelling in panic. Hanamaki slid into Hajime’s lap to avoid getting hit, raising his own gun to the ceiling as he began shooting in retaliation. Nestled between the car door and his seat was the captain’s shield, which he quickly attached to his arm.

With his free hand, Hajime pushed the break handle, making the vehicle skid to a stop. The figure on top of their car flew forward with the sudden momentum, but he tumbled to land facing them with his metal fingers digging into the concrete with a screech. The three stared at the Winter Soldier with wide eyes, watching as he slowly lifted his arm and stood.

After a second, Hanamaki raised his gun once again, aiming to shoot at him. Before they could, the SHIELD car behind them rammed into their own vehicle, pushing them towards the assassin. Hanamaki’s gun fell to the ground, and Matsukawa anxiously tried to steer them out of the way, only to fail.

As their car approached, the Winter Soldier leaped forward to summersault onto the roof. The metal crushed under his weight as Matsukawa attempted to floor the gas despite the damage done.

“Shit!” Matsukawa yelled when the assassin’s metal arm crashed through the windshield, grabbing the steering wheel and ripping it off. “What the fuck!”

Hanamaki shoots blindly, hitting the general area where the Winter Soldier once stood. The latter jumped off the roof only to land on SHIELD’s, where he watched the three in the car move forward with no means of stopping or speeding.

The SHIELD vehicle rammed into them once again, Hanamaki letting out a colorful string of curses escape his lips.As a result, they slammed into the divider of the highway, the car beginning to tilt. Hajime grit his teeth, he gripped the handle of his shield tightly. Hanamaki grabbed Matsukawa’s bicep, pulling him towards them.

“Hang on!” Hajime yelled as the car was suddenly airborne. With the weight the three had on the the side door, it gave out to make them fall through and skid through the highway. Somewhere along the way, Matsukawa had lost his grip and tumbled to the other side of the road.

Hajime and Hanamaki scrambled to get up, armed with a shield and gun respectively, watching as the SHIELD car began to slow as well. The Winter Soldier mounted off, grabbing the machine gun that another agent handed him. He took aim, Hajime’s eyes widening before he shoved Hanamaki away and raised his shield in the nick of time.

A huge blast pushed him off his feet, making him topple off the highway only to land through the window of a bus. In the momentary surprise of the bus driver, a truck had crash into them, making it fall to its side as civilians screamed around him. Above, he could hear a storm of bullets ripple throughout the highway. He could only hope that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were safe.

He groaned in the midst of the shattered pieces of glass surrounding him. He could only hope he was going to be okay as well. In a distance, he heard an explosion before shots were fired some distance away from the bus he was in. Louder and more rampant bangs rained from the highway.

He begun getting up slowly, grateful the civilians around him had already evacuated the vehicle and started to flee. In his momentary distraction, he didn’t hear the cease in firing nor did he hear the sound of a car’s hood crumbling under a certain figure.

Before he could react, a row of bullets began shooting at the bus. Quickly, he raised his arms to block the dust blowing as he ran to the other side. Right as the bullets nearly reached him, he rammed through the glass of the back window, grabbing his shield that had fallen on the street and tucking his body behind it.

He noticed three men shooting wildly at him. _Great._

Using his shield to ricochet the bullets of one of the shooters, one of the gunmen were hit. In a distance, he heard a grunt as another man was wounded. From the corner of his eye, he could see Matsukawa holding a rifle from his spot in the highway. Hajime slowly began to stand before bolting towards the remaining shooter, the blasts coming from his weapon still relentless.

He barrelled into the man, using the force to flip him over and smash him into the car. The captain landed on his feet on the concrete, crouching behind the trunk of the car. Upon hearing the gunshots from the highway, he looked to Matsukawa worriedly.

“Go!” He yelled, glancing at Hajime. “I got this!”

He nodded at his friend before taking off running to where he had heard an explosion. Worry began to ebb away at his chest, realizing that the Winter Soldier had most likely been chasing after Hanamaki.

From a distance, he saw his pink haired friend shouting at civilians as he sprinted. “Get out of the way!” He yelled, gesturing wildly. “Get out!”

As he neared him, he watching as the Winter Soldier suddenly shot Hanamaki through his shoulder, making him stumble and quickly hide behind a car. The assassin jumped on the hood of another vehicle, taking aim. Hajime grunted, pumping his legs faster as he ran at the mystery man. In the last second, he raised his shield, feeling the vibration of it when it came into contact with a metal punch.

Hajime barely registered the fact that the Winter Soldier had lost his goggles. Brown blank eyes were shifted to aggression as his metal hand shoved the edge of the captain’s shield, using the opening to kick him in the chest and off the car. Hajime grunted, falling backwards before raising his shield to avoid the onslaught of bullets.

The Winter Soldier then rolled to his side, Hajime following in pursuit to tumble into a crouch, moving as fast as he could while he held his shield up. He noticed the assassin’s gun run out of bullets, taking the chance to plant his hand firmly on a car to lift his legs, kicking the man’s armed hand. The man quickly took out a glock, shooting at his shield. _Just how many weapons does this guy have?_

Hajime raised his arm to punch the brunet’s temple, which he dodged. With his current position, the captain used his free hand to bring his shield to the man’s side, only to be stopped by a metal grip. Before Hajime could react, the brunet rammed his right hand into his face, making him grunt in surprise.

In his distraction, the Winter Soldier used both hands to twist the shield in order to make Hajime fall. Instead, Hajime merely aerialed with his arm still attached to the disc, which was removed seconds later. A metal punch came at his abdomen, pushing him to tumble backwards. He landed on his knees and one hand on the ground, looking up to meet the man who know armed himself with the captain’s shield. They stared at each other for a moment, Hajime gritting his teeth as he took in the man’s brunet waves, soulless eyes, and stiff stature.

He then took off running, barely dodging the impressive throw of his shield by the assassin. From behind his opponent, he heard the whistle of a knife cutting through the air. Hajime began throwing his fists, only to be met with blocks each time he tried. Their blows came at speed that almost dizzied him, never having once encountered someone who could fight him at this rate unless it was Hinata using his power. In the midst of one block, the Winter Soldier lightly threw a knife in the air before catching it to use it in his attempts to incapacitate the other.

After their constant dodgings, Hajime finally landed a jab at the assassin’s jaw, making him whip his head to the side. Twirling, he sent a roundhouse kick to his stomach, making the brunet fly back and into a parked car. He jumped at him, kneeing his chest before they continued their dance of dodges and failed punches, only for the captain to grab his figure and slam him into the ground. The man quickly stood up, metal fingers grasping around Hajime’s neck, tightening as it whirred.For a moment, the Winter Soldier brought him closer to him before throwing him with all his might.

Hajime fell over a car, hearing the assassin jump on the hood of said vehicle. Quickly removing himself from the ground, he missed a punch by a metal hand that left a dent in the concrete. He cursed, whirling around to face him again. This time, as they danced, the Winter Soldier began landing several hits that left him breathless.

The brunet kicked him to a car, leg pinning him against the metal. He wielded his knife once again, flipping the weapon before diving it into the space where Hajime’s head had been if he had not jerked his head back at the last second. They moved to the right, knife dragging through the material as Hajime had one hand on the metal bicep and another around the assassin’s waist. Reaching the end of the car, he flipping the Winter Soldier over.

He thanked every deity there was in every religion for the fact the car they had been on moments ago was the same car that had his shield buried in the back. Removing it quickly as his opponent stood up once again, he turned in time to avoid a knife to the face.

He dodged several blows, using one of the failed attempts to dig his shield into the metal. Hearing the grunt of the Winter Soldier, he quickly curled his arm around the metal appendage to whack the assassin in the face. Turning to put them back-to-back, Hajime grabbed onto the man’s jaw, tossing him over his shoulder to send him tumbling feet away from him. The captain watched as the mask that had covered the Winter Soldier’s face fell onto the concrete. He breathed heavily, staring at caution as the man stood up.

The world seemed to slow around him as the assassin turned to look at him.

Hajime’s eyes widened as his blood went cold. He could hear his heart roaring in his ears, his own green eyes meeting toffee brown ones that he now recognized. For a moment, he thought his asthma from the fourties had returned from his inability to breathe at that very moment.

“…Tooru?” He whispered, brows scrunched and mouth open. He could feel a burning pressure behind his eyes.

The man’s—no, _Oikawa’s_ —eyes flashed. “Who the hell is Tooru?”

His old friend raised his gun, aiming for Hajime while he still stood in shock. Before he could pull the trigger, a whoosh of air sounded from beside them, Matsukawa ramming into Oikawa with outstretched legs in full Falcon equipment.

Oikawa rolled to the side, scrambling to get up. Hajime made no move to attack him, still staring at him. His chest clenched, watching as Oikawa’s eyes turn wild and confused behind the fringe of brown hair falling before his eyes. When their gazes met, Hajime could have sworn that he saw panic and fear in them. Eyes flickering from Hajime’s figure to the side, Oikawa took aim once again.

Before he could fire, a click sounded from behind him, the captain ducking to the side on instinct. A grenade was thrown to Oikawa’s location, creating a mini explosion. Hajime glanced behind him to see a dirt covered Hanamaki leaning against a car while holding a grenade launcher against his good shoulder. He looked back to where the brunet once stood, not sure if he felt happy, fearful, or confused when he saw no one there.

He watched in a daze as several SHIELD vehicles suddenly surrounded them. Hajime could barely process what was currently happening, heart still beating erratically from what had happened moments before.

_Tooru is alive._

Hajime shut his eyes tightly, the burning behind his eyes increasing.

_Tooru is alive but he doesn’t remember me._

Out of all the bruises and scrapes he had experienced in the last week, this had hurt him the most. Finding out Oikawa Tooru, his best friend since childhood, his confidant, his pillar, his _partner_ was alive, only to realize that Oikawa was with HYDRA and didn’t even know his own name—it brought pain Hajime never knew he could feel. It almost hurt as much as the day Hajime thought he’d lost him in that mission on the Alps.

Now in the back of a truck with Hanamaki and Matsukawa seated in front of him, all three of them surrounded by agents, Hajime could only throw his head back with closed eyes.

—

_“Iwa-chan!” A voice suddenly called out from his front door._

_Hajime, who had been reading a book on the couch, looked up to see his best friend rushing towards him with wide eyes. “Iwa-chan!”_

_“What?” He deadpanned, attention reverting back to his book._

_He heard Oikawa take a deep breath before he felt weight on the couch beside him. Frowning, Hajime looked up once more, unused to the sudden silence of his energetic and loud partner. He was even more foreign to the way that Oikawa avoided his eyes for a few moments._

_“Hajime,” he began, and suddenly he felt himself grow cold. Oikawa only used his given name in serious situations. When their gazes finally met, he knew this was situation was no different._

_“I got in.”_

_“What?”_

_“I got drafted. I’m in the 107th.”_

_Hajime didn’t know what to say. Despite Oikawa’s regular intervening during his alley fights and his constant worrying over Hajime’s health, the brunet was actually extremely soft behind doors. He was an idiot who flirted with several dames, called him a stupid nickname like Iwa-chan, dragged him to all kinds of science conventions (especially that of Sawamura Satoshi), and overworked himself when it came to helping Hajime make ends meet for his family._

_Tooru certainly could fight many battles, but he never did so without Hajime by his side._

_Hajime realized he was quiet, not having said any form of reply. He took in a breath, nimble fingers gripping the battered novel in his grasp. “Congrats,” he said, though his voice was strained. “I knew you could do it.”_

_Despite not looking at him, Hajime knew Oikawa was analyzing his current position. Oikawa could read him like an open book, and it was the same for Hajime._

_Suddenly, a hand circled his wrist, making him look up. He was greeted by a warm brown gaze._

_“Relax, Iwa-chan,” his voice was calm, a playful edge on it. “You have nothing to worry about. I’d never forget you!”_

_Heat flooded his cheeks as he snorted. “Like I’d worry about that, punk. Just don’t get yourself killed, okay?”_

_The laughter that escaped Oikawa’s lips was akin to bells. Hajime loved it._

_“I promise.”_

—

Hajime opened his eyes, staring at the roof of the vehicle. Before he knew it, he was already venting out his thoughts.

“The Winter Soldier,” he whispered, glancing at the concerned faces of Matsukawa and Hanamaki. “It’s…his name. Oikawa Tooru. My partner.”

“Are you sure?” Matsukawa inquired, one of his cuffed hands rest on Hanamaki’s thigh as the latter tiredly placed his head on the taller man’s shoulder. They both knew very well about Hajime’s history, who Oikawa was, and how important he was to the captain.

“It was him,” Hajime said with an airy voice. “He looked right at me like he didn't even know me.”

Matsukawa frowned. “How's that even possible? That was, like, seventy years ago.”

The captain was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Zola,” he finalized, looking at the ground. “Tooru’s whole unit, the 107th, was captured in ’43. I found him on a table a-and Zola…he—“ he let out a sigh. “He experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Tooru survive the fall. They must have found him and…”

“None of that is your fault, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki interrupted. Despite currently bleeding out, he still gave his friend as soft sympathetic smile. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

 _They don’t understand._ “Even when I had nothing,” he said softly. “I had Tooru.”

* * *

The Asset sat on his chair, they one they usually put him in for maintenance on his arm and memory wiping. He was shirtless, metal appendage propped on the arm rest as a mechanic tinkered with it. His eyes were blank yet his chest swirled with emotion. He didn’t know what to feel.

A memory flashed in his mind.

_“Sergeant Oikawa,” he hears a European accent whisper. He sees a short doctor peer over him, a wild smirk on his lips. The scene shifted, his gut clenching as he suddenly realized he was falling._

“ _TOORU!” He heard a voice scream, watching as snow blurred around him into a stretch of white. He then sees a body—his body?—being dragged through the snow, blood staining where his arm was cut. There’s a flash, and then the doctor from his first memory is smirking down at him once again._

_“The procedure has started,” he hears, but his attention is glued on his left arm. Instead of seeing flesh, he’s greeted with the glint of shiny silver. “You are to be the new fist of HYDRA.”_

_Still gazing at his hand, wondering where he was, he distantly hears the accented voice ordering to put him in the ice. Before he knows it, all he can see is a frosted glass, hands placed on it in an attempt to escape, then everything is dark and cold._

It was only when a group of agents had surrounded him with aimed guns did the Winter Soldier realize he had knocked over the man working on his arm. He blinks, watching as the doors open to reveal Washijou Tanji. Behind him is Ushijima and the rest of the STRIKE team.

“Mission report,” the older man demanded. The Asset keeps his gaze glued to the wall, eyes misted over with a blank look. His brows are lightly scrunched, lower lip jutted.

Then his face flew to the side upon receiving a blow to his jaw. “Mission report,” Washijou hissed.

Finally looking at his superior, the Asset only frowned at him. “The man on the bridge…” he trailed off softly. “Who was he?”

Washijou arched a thick brow, sharing a look with Ushijima. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

“I…I knew him.”

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time,” Washijou glared down at him. “Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves.”

The Asset thinks about what the man on the bridge had called him. How he had looked at him.

“But I knew him,” the assassin repeated, voice still soft and vulnerable.

Washijou clicks his tongue, turning to one of the scientists. “Semi!” He barks, making the gray haired man startle. “Prep him.”

“Washijou-san, he’s been out of cryo freeze for too long—“

“Then wipe him and start over.”

The Asset knew this would happen. He wasn’t surprised when they begun strapping him down, shoving a familiar teeth shield into his mouth and settling the contraption in his face. Still, he decided, it was worth a try. He needed answers. Craved them.

_Who was the man on the bridge?_

His thoughts were cut short by his scream. Mind turning to static, he convulsed in his seat in pain, only hearing his own echo bounce back to his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldnt find it in my heart to kill tendou yall im a simp for ushiten. also i was Hyped As Hell writing those small descriptions for tsukki and kagehina. i think using the concept of the maximoff twins (provided they arent related at all) for kagehina is just. man. THE FLAVOUR. also spiderman!tsukki is my aesthetic.
> 
> anw i really wanted to put kuroo in this universe and i didnt know how until i realized. BLACK PANTHER. absolutely amazing. beautiful. out of this world. stunning. but i didnt want to use wakanda because wakanda and everything about its fictional culture is so grounded on black history, which i didnt want to change. i thought it would be better to use nekoma instead.
> 
> hehe any idea who kenma is???? ayeoooooo
> 
> hope u guys enjoyed this chapter! im pretty sure the winter soldier arc will end in the next chapter, but theres a chance it will take about 2 in case the action scenes Ruin Me and i have to cut it in half. nyehe im excited to introduce the other characters formally BOOYEAHHHH
> 
> also lets talk about the similarities between bucky and oikawa. both of them are flirty losers who are obsessed over nerd stuff (bruh that convention bucky dragged steve to in tfa... man). there are more similarities but they will be pulled out sooner or later.
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed! please leave feedback :) thank you!


	6. You're My Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hajime rose again, looking at his best friend. He knew the outcome. He knew what was going to happen and he was going to let it happen. 
> 
> “Tooru,” he said, softly. He watched as Oikawa reeled back, eyes glossed over. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

_“Hey,” Oikawa said softly. “You know my family will take care of you, right?”_

_Hajime remained quiet, the sound of footsteps scraping the gravel being the only noise to cut through the tension. “My parents wanted to see you,” his friend continued. “Give you a ride to the cemetery.”_

_The shorter man only nodded his head as they neared his now empty apartment. “I’m sorry,” Hajime said, turning to face the brunet with his gaze averted to the ground. “I kinda…wanted to be alone.”_

_“How was it?”_

_“S’okay,” he shrugged. “She’s next to dad.”_

_“…I’ve been meaning to ask you—“_

_Hajime gave him a small smile. “I know what you’re gonna ask, Tooru. I just…”_

_At this, Oikawa let out an airy laugh. It was light hearted, easing the twisting of Hajime’s gut. “It’ll be fun,” he insisted, bumping his bony shoulder. “We can go climb the rooftop and look at the stars, or catch random bugs if we see ‘em. You know, like when we were kids.”_

_They stopped at his door, Hajime patting his pockets as he searched for his apartment key. Oikawa kept speaking, turning to crouch by a brick nearing the railing. “All you have to do is maybe cook dinner,” he lifted the brick, picking up the hidden key and straightening up. “Maybe take out the trash.” He handed the key over, his expression suddenly soft. “Come on, Hajime.”_

_“Thanks, Tooru,” he whispered, clutching the small metal in his hand. “But I can get by on my own.”_

_A hand clasped his shoulder, making him look back into his friend’s eyes. “I know,” Oikawa said. It was in these rare moments where Hajime saw how serious and gentle his friend could be. Despite his jokes and aloft attitude, Oikawa loved fiercely and looked after Hajime when he needed it the most._

_“But you don’t have to,” he said. “‘Cause I’m with you until the end of the line.”_

—

“He’s gonna be there, you know.”

The voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him face the owner. Matsukawa leaned against the same rail Hajime laid his arms on. The captain remained silent for a moment as his friend studied his expression.

“I know,” he finalized.

The two, along with Hanamaki, had been rescued by Takeda who went undercover in the SHIELD truck. Subsequent to their escape, Takeda had brought them to Ukai, who was _alive._ Hajime was hardly surprised seeing as his best friend who had died over seventy years ago was alive as well. They formulated a strategy to bring down Project Insight, which was due to launch in a few more hours.

“Look,” Matsukawa started, hesitantly. His tone was cautious, like he was approaching a scared animal. “Whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop.”

Hajime bit his lip. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you.”

The words stung, but they were true. After discussing about it with Ukai and Takeda, he had found out that Oikawa’s situation most likely entailed memory wiping and cryo freezing. He shuddered upon thinking about the pain his partner had gone through. Growing up, Hajime was definitely the smaller, more prone to sickness, and skinny one. He was frail but his attitude was akin to that of a horse. He was stubborn, had high pain tolerance, and insisted on diving head first into fights. Oikawa, despite maturing to be a brilliant sergeant who fought by his side in the war, used to be a kid who cried over _everything._ He couldn’t imagine the torture he had been through.

“He will,” Hajime said, determined. “Gear up, it’s time.”

Matsukawa gave a once over at the captain’s casual attire. “You wearing that?”

“No. If you're gonna fight a war, you gotta wear a uniform.”

* * *

It was probably wasn’t a good idea to steal the uniform he used in the war from the Smithsonian. There were limitless options. He had a back up stealth suit in his apartment and about a dozen versions of others with Sawamura, who could probably send it to them in a few minutes, flat. His first uniform is by no means incapable—he had used it in the war, after all. Still, it was _old_ , and it was nothing compared to the suits he adorned nowadays.

Deep in the back of his mind, he knew the real reason he stole the uniform was because he had hoped it would spark recognition in Oikawa. It was the suit he wore with him most of the time in the fourties, after all.

Hajime, Matsukawa, and Takeda were currently walking up the stairs leading to the Com Tech room. It was where the PA was located, and where Takeda would be able to track the helicarriers. Hanamaki was undercover as one of the members of the World Security Council, and Ukai was waiting to make his (grand, very dramatic) entrance through a chopper that Sugawara had sent them.

They reached the door, Hajime clutching his shield tightly with Takeda by his side and Matsukawa taking the rear. Takeda then presses a button in the device he’s holding, and the three men hearing the workers loudly complain at the subsequent sharp noise echoing throughout their earpieces.

“Must be the dish,” they hear a worker say, voices muffled.

“I’ll go check it out.”

The door opened, the employee starting at the sight of the looming men. Takeda and Matsukawa had their guns pointed at the shaking man.

“Excuse us,” Hajime says stoically, pushing past the frozen agent to enter the room. None of the SHIELD agents dared to move; they knew they had direct orders from Secretary Washijou to, in Agent Yahaba’s words, _manhunt_ the captain, but no one had the courage to face the soldier head on. Wordlessly, they watched as the tall man approach the PA.

“Attention, all SHIELD agents,” he began.

“This is Iwaizumi Hajime. I know you’ve heard a lot about me over the last few days—some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time you know the truth,” he paused, meeting the reassuring eyes of Takeda.

“SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It’s been taken over by HYDRA. Washijou Tanji is their leader and the STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you,” his eyes grazed the audience in the room, letting a beat of silence pass.

“They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Ukai Keishin and it won't end there. If you launch those helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high—it always has been. But it’s a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not.”

He ended the transmission, facing a smirking Matsukawa. “Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?”

Hajime only laughed, exiting the room with his friend trailing behind him. They adjusted their earpieces as they made their way to the helicarriers, silence suddenly enveloping them. It was evident that the mission was risky—for Hajime, especially. It was dangerous because the captain was dead set on not hurting Oikawa drastically.

“ _Guys, they rushed the sequence. They’re launching the helicarriers now,”_ Takeda’s voice announced over their comms. Matsukawa cursed, the two reaching the landing pad as they broke out into a jog.

“Hey, Cap! How do we know the good guys from the bad guys?”

“If they’re shooting at you, they’re bad!”

Matsukawa activates his equipment, mechanical wings sprouting from the pack attached to his shoulders. He takes off as Hajime jumps over the ledge, landing on one of the rising helicarriers with a tumble. The captain starts sprinting, raising his shield when an onslaught of bullets began raining on him from his left. He rolled over some of the equipment, using it as coverage as he punched another agent who tried attacking him.

From the agent’s unconscious body, he takes a grenade, prepping it before it rolled toward the remaining offenders. In a distance, he heard firing from one of the helicarriers.

“ _Oof—shit—hey cap! I found those bad guys you were talking about!”_

Hajime scrunched his brows in worry. “You okay?”

Whistling of wind and gunshots were heard in his ear. “ _I’m not dead yet!”_

Hajime let out a huff similar to a chuckle before bolting across the landing pad once again. Agents came at him left and right, which he quickly incapacitated with his shield. Around them, dust began to blow, rising due to the rain of bullets. He overhead Takeda checking in with Matsukawa, and felt relief when he confirmed he was in.

Only to feel worry when Matsukawa cursed once again, gunfire being more evident over the comms. A kick landed in his stomach, making Hajime grunt before he rammed his shield into the officer’s head. He could only reassure himself that his friend would hold on his own—he had his own things to worry about.

It almost became like a dance. Agents continued to run at him, each going down with a single kick, punch, or throw of a shield. As he neared the entrance of the helicarrier’s interior, Takeda’s voice flitted over his ear piece once again.

“ _Eight minutes, cap.”_

He threw his shield, watching it hit an agent a few meters away before it ricocheted back to his outstretched hand. “Working on it.”

Finally, he reached entered the control centre of the first helicarrier. It was a glass dome, several steel pillars wrapping around it. A walkway lead to his destination, a certain port where he would put a flash drive in order to override the system. Quickly typing in the access code, the port lowered itself automatically. He placed the device, turning and breaking out into a run once again. “Alpha locked!”

As he moved, he heard the cursing and short exchange of words between Matsukawa and Takeda. After a mini explosion sounding over the comms, he heard the successful hoot of his friend. “Bravo locked!”

Hajime hit the landing pad, seeing a dozen agents armed and ready to attack. Immediately, he headed for the ledge. “Matsukawa, I’m gonna need a ride!”

“ _Roger! Let me know when you’re ready!”_

The captain narrowly missed a launch grenade, jumping off. “I’m ready!”

He tumbled into a free fall, clutching tightly to his shield. As he neared the ground, a hand suddenly clasped over his, Matsukawa letting out a yell in exertion before he pulled the both of them up to the last helicarrier. They dropped onto the ground, beginning to make their way to the control centre.

“You’re a lot heavier than you look,” Matsukawa bitterly said.

“I had a big breakfast,” Hajime smirked.

Suddenly, he grunted as a metal fist attacked his abdomen, shoving him off the helicarrier ledge once again. “Iwaizumi!” Matsukawa yelled, wings out as he jumped off after him. Before he could take off, the Winter Soldier grabbed one of the mechanical wings, tugging him and flipping him backwards.

Hajime held onto the side of one of the thrusters, panting heavily. He heard Matsukawa and Oikawa fighting, hearing multiple gunshots and several groans. Then, Matsukawa’s voice sounded over his earpiece. “ _Cap! Cap—Iwaizumi, come in. Are you okay?”_

The captain began scaling the metal, still heaving ragged breaths. “Yeah, I’m still here. Still on the helicarrier.” He finally got himself to an area he could stand steadily in. “Where are you?”

“ _I’m grounded,_ ” Matsukawa said sadly. “ _The suit’s down. Sorry, Cap._ ”

“Don’t worry,” he reassured. “I got this.”

He continued scaling the helicarrier, miraculously reaching the entrance of the interior from one of the doors located near the thrusters for maintenance. He jogged into the control room, feet heavily thudding against the steel walkway.

Only he slowed down, heart beating heavily in his chest as his eyes met brown. The air was heavy with tension, silence seeming to scream.

“People are gonna die, Tooru,” he said softly. He breathed deeply, knowing he had a mission, but also knowing that Oikawa being _right in front of him_ was something too important. “I can’t let that happen.”

Oikawa stared at him wordlessly, his gaze so utterly _blank_ that it made Hajime hurt. He had never seen his best friend look this way, with such an intense look hidden behind a long fringe of chestnut hair. Hajime felt the same burning sensation behind his eyes.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

He didn’t want to hurt him. _God,_ no matter what Oikawa had done with HYDRA, Hajime knew it wasn’t really _him._ Looking at him now, he could only see a shell of the partner he had more than seventy years ago. Still, those were _Tooru’s_ eyes that were blank, _Tooru’s_ skin that was scarred and matted with dirt, _Tooru’s_ hair that covered his face, and _Tooru’s_ hand that was now metal.

In response, Oikawa merely titled his chin downwards, still staring at Hajime. The captain inhaled deeply, knowing that failing his mission would still mean millions dead. He couldn’t—he _wouldn’t_ —drastically hurt Oikawa, but he had to save these people.

And maybe, he could save Oikawa Tooru too.

Hajime curled his lip before tossing his shield at the Winter Soldier. The assassin merely raised his metal arm, the disc ricocheting back to Hajime as he aimed a gun and fired shots that the captain blocked with his shield. Hajime edged closer to Oikawa, using his shield as protection before he smacked away the metal appendage from him.

Oikawa, unfazed, merely twirled with the motion, hands both full with two guns. He aimed again, shooting both simultaneously. Hajime let out a yell of pain when one bullet scraped his abdomen. Using all his might, he smashed his shield into Oikawa’s head.

The man flew back, but stood up again as if he hadn’t been injured at all. Hajime watched as he unsheathed a knife, heart clenching at the thought of how much pain Oikawa had gone through to react so emotionlessly at _everything_.

The Winter Soldier attacked first, the two reverting to a choreography of punches, kicks, thrusting knives, and raising shields. Eventually, he was able to push Oikawa back once again, quickly typing the access code behind him.

Unfortunately, the brunet returned immediately as the port lowered itself, the soldiers battling once more. Hajime dodged a few blows before he hit Oikawa’s metal arm with his shield, digging it into the metal. It remained unmoving in position, but whirred as metal plates readjusted themselves around the intrusion. He grunted, abruptly ripping off the disc before kicking him in the chest, sending him back.

He whirled around, taking out one of the flash drives and reaching to open his utility belt to retrieve the replacement. Hajime heard motion behind him, raising his shield just in time to protect him from a metal punch. A baritone sound echoed throughout the dome from the action.

He pushed Oikawa back before the latter moved out of the way, swiping at Hajime with his knife in hand. They exchanged blows and dodges, each sending an equal amount of damage to the other. Then, Hajime was able to hit Oikawa in the head with his shield, making it whip back.

Oikawa looked at him with a wild look in his eye before he yelled in frustration, running at Hajime before the two of them toppled over the railing. The two slid down one of the metal, the flash drive falling from the captain’s grasp. Somewhere in the process, Hajime had lost his shield as well.

They ran at each other with nothing but their fists. He only managed one hit to Oikawa’s chest before the other had punched him with his left hand, sending him skidding back. He passed by the replacement chip, swiftly grabbing it with his gloved hand. Oikawa followed him, sliding down the metal before returning to fight Hajime.

He hit his hand, causing the flash drive to tumble down into the glass dome. The captain hissed, punching his throat then his chest, making Oikawa fall after it. He stood, before jumping as well to retrieve the chip.

Hajime ran toward the device until he heard the familiar hum of his shield flying behind him. He grunted, feeling the force of its hit push him forward and stumble. He quickly armed himself with it, blocking the bullets Oikawa shot at him. He threw the disc once the assassin ceased, the brunet effortlessly throwing it out of motion with a block of his metal arm.

Oikawa came at him, brandishing his knife and swiping at him every chance he got. Hajime barely dodged each attack before he held both of Oikawa’s wrists in a tight grip, trying to prevent him from stabbing. But the strength of the Winter Soldier’s left arm was impeccable, and he swiftly drove the knife into Hajime’s shoulder, making him cry out in pain.

The captain rammed his head into his opponent, headbutting him three times before Oikawa let go. Hajime fell to the side, leaning against a steel pillar as he ripped the knife out. He then ran at the assassin, who was crawling towards the flash drive and had successfully slammed his flesh palm against it in an effort to grab it. By the time he did so, Hajime was by his side, prying his fingers open.

His free hand encircled Oikawa’s neck, lifting him up before slamming him to the ground. Right arm trapped between Hajime’s own and torso, as well as his head being pushed by Hajime’s hands, Oikawa groaned yet kept his grip on the chip tight.

“Drop it!” Hajime yelled. “Drop it!”

Oikawa remained holding it in his steel grasp. The captain shut his eyes before he jolted the brunet’s arm forward, hearing a crunch and the following scream of pain that his best friend let out. He swiftly changed their position, dropping so that Oikawa’s back was against his chest, his arm curled around his neck in a choke hold.

Oikawa flailed, left arm whirring as it tried to pry Hajime off him. He abruptly let his arm go, making the metal appendage drop where the captain trapped it with his legs. He could feel Oikawa’s flailing begin to lessen, and his pale skin redden with the lack of oxygen.

And then, the Winter Soldier’s eyes slowly closed, his fingers loosening around the flash drive. Hajime let him go, barely giving his unconscious body a glance as he grabbed the device and ran back to the port. God, he felt like crying. Hearing Oikawa’s cry of pain alone _and_ causing him to go unconscious made him feel terrible. He did have a mission, after all, but the gravity of the situation did nothing to ease the twisting of his heart.

By the time Hajime had lifted himself up on the steel platform, he heard Takeda’s anxiety riddled voice flit over his comms. “ _One minute._ ”

He ran, trying to reach the port as fast as he could, but a gunshot and white hot pain suddenly startled him. He cried out, falling to his knees. From afar, he saw Oikawa standing where he last put him, gun raised and aimed. Sparing him no further glance, Hajime continued scaling the steel pillar leading up to the walkway.

Another gunshot. Hajime ripped his hand away from where the bullet landed inches from. He panted, finally reaching the walkway as he rolled onto the cool metal. Everything _hurt_. He could feel numbness and pain begin to merge, different alarm signals ringing in his mind. Hajime gripped the railing, staggering towards the port.

“ _Thirty seconds, cap!_ ”

“Stand by…” he breathed heavily, taking out the chip. He barely raised his arm before another shot was fired, this time landing directly in his stomach. He cried out once again, falling to the ground as he let out shaky and ragged breaths. Hajime looked down, seeing the area of his uniform with red and white stripes being stained by a large bloody blotch.

Everything _hurt._ He wanted to close his eyes and let go then and there. He wanted to give in to the pain just to end it all already.

 _But he had a mission_.

Hands grasping for purchase on anything they could, he slowly lifted himself up enough to plant the flash drive, falling back to the ground once he did so. “Charlie locked,” he panted.

“ _Okay, cap, get out of there._ ”

“Fire now,” he croaked into his comm.

“ _…But Hajime—“_

“Do it! Do it now!”

He moved forward, grasping onto the rails. There was no getting out of here, but even then, he wanted to see Oikawa for the last time. Explosions littered around him from the fires of the other carriers, but Hajime paid no mind. He was on his knees, pillars, glass, and metal raining around him.

A pained scream caught his attention. His breath hitched, eyes landing on Oikawa, who was pinned down by one of the pieces of debris. Biting his lip, he jumped off the walkway, falling ungracefully by his partner. He staggered, one hand gripping his stomach while the other had his shield attached.

A blast rattled the helicarrier, making Hajime fall backward. Unbeknownst to him, Oikawa’s eyes held a typhoon of emotions. Fear, mostly, a bit of confusion, and the subtle hint of something else. Hajime could feel the carrier descending, most likely about to crash into the water. He staggered back to the pillar, encircling his arms around the steel before groaning as he tried lifting the weight.

He heard Oikawa grunting, and once he saw from the corner of his eye that he was free, he dropped the pillar. The two of them panted, Oikawa on all fours, getting up, as Hajime leaned against the debris.

Green met brown. “You know me,” he said, tone low.

They slowly stood up, and Hajime raised his shield in time to protect himself from a metal blow that had him flying back. With the punch came Oikawa’s strained voice.

“NO, I DON’T!”

Hajime rose again, looking at his best friend. He knew the outcome. He knew what was going to happen and he was going to _let_ it happen.

“Tooru,” he said, softly. He watched as Oikawa reeled back, eyes glossed over. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

Metal backhanded his face, making him jerk back. Hajime ignored the sting, looking at his partner once again.

“Your name…” he panted. “Is Oikawa Tooru. You’re my partner, my partner that I can be proud of—”

“ _SHUT UP!_ ”

Another blow, throwing him back once again. Hajime staggered to his feet, ripping off his helmet. He stared at Oikawa and really _looked_. He saw the fear in his eyes, the confusion, the tears awaiting to be shed.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said, tone still soft and vulnerable. Maintaining eye contact, he let go of his shield, hearing the clanging of metal as it fell through the glass. “You’re my friend.”

The pain was evident on Oikawa’s face. Hajime made no move to fight him as the assassin barrelled into him, the two of them landing before the opening of one of the holes caused by the damage.

“You’re my mission,” Oikawa hissed.

Punch after punch, Hajime could only feel the weight of his partner on his torso and the metal hitting his skin. Still, despite the pain, despite _everything_ , he let it happen, blearily looking at Oikawa Tooru through his bruised eyes. The blows stopped for a moment, and Hajime watched as the brunet had his arm frozen in the air.

“Then finish it,” he whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek. “‘Cause I’m with you until the end of the line.”

Hajime could feel himself slipping. He could feel the darkness creeping around his vision, and yet, he maintained eye contact with Oikawa. He could almost feel what his best friend was going through, and despite the physical pain that surged throughout his body, a bubble of contentment blossomed in his chest upon a certain glint shining in those toffee eyes.

_Recognition._

He heard a crash, and then everything went black.

* * *

He didn’t know what he was doing.

All his life— _was it really even_ all _his life?_ —he had been given orders. Strict instructions to follow. No room for mistakes because mistakes meant _punishment_. He was HYDRA’s strongest fist, their lapdog, their _Asset._

But in that moment, when that man said those words, something stirred inside him. Something began bitting from the corners of his brain, tugging at the strings of his heart.

Something that made him dive head first after that man after a few moments of shock.

After he pulled the man (his friend? He said they were, but the word felt foreign to him) from the river, tinkered with his comm to release a distress signal, and was able to push the water out of his lungs, he looked at him.

 _Really_ looked at him.

He had bronze skin and cropped raven hair that was matted down by the river water. His face was littered with bruises but he could easily identify the strong set jaw, plump lips, and thick lashes that framed stone green eyes that stared at him so gently moments before. Despite being badly hurt, he still looked handsome. But even more than that—

_He looked familiar._

The thought scared him. And so, he ran.

That was four days ago.

In those four days, he had managed to locate one of the safe houses undercover as an apartment in Washington. He knew he couldn’t stay there for long—HYDRA may have been disbanded, but when one head is cut, two more appear. Thankfully, he was trained with dozens of skills that would help him. Being stealthy and familiar with technology to hack into things, he had managed to find out from the internet that HYDRA’s entire database had been leaked. Along with that, he had managed to fish out enough money to last him a while from various HYDRA agents’ bank accounts.

And so, four days later, he was about to make his move. He was going to leave Washington, and eventually, the country. He had all he needed—his file, which he had printed from the leaked HYDRA documents, a backpack only half full with clothes, and money.

But for now, he stood in the Smithsonian museum, face hidden under a baseball cap and brunet hair tugged into a small ponytail at his nape.

_“Best friends since childhood, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Oikawa is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAA IM SCREAMING!! that ends the winter soldier arc! now we're going to diverge from the canon mcu timeline hooray! we'll see the rest of the characters, mostly karasuno and the training camp mcs, and most importantly, more iwaoi hell yeah. i hope you enjoyed this part of the story!
> 
> ngl not gon lie i cried when i wrote the "you know me" part between iwaoi that shit HURTED also when i added the iconic "youre my partner that i can be proud of" UGH THE FLAVOUR


	7. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At six in the morning, Iwaizumi Hajime was rendered speechless by a sixteen year old.
> 
> “…Are my thoughts of him that loud?” He asked quietly, almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck.
> 
> “Yes,” Kageyama deadpanned. He stood suddenly, placing his dishes in the sink. “But that’s okay,” the teenager began to move to exit the kitchen, sparing the captain one last look. “Loud thoughts just means you care.”

It had been seven months since the events in Washington DC.

Subsequent to the fall of SHIELD and Hajime’s recovery, he had transferred back to New York and was now living in the Avengers tower once again. Matsukawa, after weeks of discussion, had followed him as well. They had settled in nicely in the large tower, Sawamura having an excessive amount of rooms to be lived in and more than enough money to keep them and the rest of the team financially stable. It somewhat saddened him to leave Washington, but it was necessary. However, it wasn’t _too_ bad that he moved back with his team. He definitely welcomed the beautiful interior, the kind employees of Sawamura, and JARVIS. A small part of him also missed the residents of the tower themselves.

A small part.

“HEY, HEY, HEY!”

A _really, really,_ teensy-weensy, small part.

Hajime sighed tiredly, sipping his hot coffee as he rubbed his temples. He currently sat on one of the stools propped against kitchen bar, white sports shirt rolled up to his shoulders. Beside him was Matsukawa, nursing a cold glass of orange juice that jerked and spilled a few droplets upon the thundering voice.

“Here we go,” Hajime said, monotonously. Matsukawa arched a thick brow.

“Iwaizumi!” The loud voice sounded again, heavy footsteps entering the kitchen. Bokuto Koutarou stood with a presence equally as intimidating as his voice, his unusual black and white hair in their usual spikes with gold eyes gleaming in glee. “And Iwaizumi’s friend!”

Hajime merely nodded while Matsukawa raised a peace sign. “Yo, I’m Matsukawa.”

“Nice to meet you!”

Regardless of the fact Hajime was _very_ much awake and that he had just returned from his early morning run with his friend, it did not change the fact that Bokuto was very loud. Way too loud for _five in the morning_.

“Washio saw what happened with SHIELD a few months ago,” the god started, voice suddenly steady. It always continued to shock Hajime with how quick Bokuto could switch tones and volumes, both with his voice and personality. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”

“It’s alright, Bokuto,” the captain waved him off. “We were fine. How’s Fukurodani?”

With that, the god went into a long ramble about the latest happenings in his realm. Hajime merely nodded absentmindedly, catching words and ideas from what he had listened to.

“—And then of course, ‘Tsumu decided to go undercover as ‘Samu—“

“Oh, Bokuto,” another voice sounded, causing the three to look up at the mouth of the kitchen. There stood Sugawara Koushi, looking as perfect as anyone could be so early in the morning. His silver hair was tousled as usual, and he adorned a crisp white dress shirt tucked into dark gray checkered trousers. He had a golden bracelet around his wrist, a charm that looked similar to Sawamura’s former arc reactor. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

 _Oh, right_. Hajime thought, only now realizing that this is the first time the god has visited since months after Manhattan. Bokuto seemed to brighten up, smiling widely.

“Yep! I’m here to join Akaashi!”

“Akaashi?” Suga questioned, making his way to the kitchen bar. He poured himself his own tumbler of coffee, placing sugar, milk, and ice. “Did something important happen?”

While it was evident how much Bokuto loved his boyfriend, Bokuto also took his responsibility in Fukurodani very seriously. He never visited Earth unless necessary.

“Yes and no,” he said, finally taking a seat across Hajime. “I don’t _have_ to be here, but Akaashi’s going to Europe! And I wanted to come because I missed that place!”

And again, Hajime had forgotten that Bokuto _was_ thousands of years old, and made his first appearances in Europe. He shivered, thinking about how the god was actually a genius underneath his energetic exterior.

Suga nodded then straightened, turning to look at Hajime. “Oh, Iwaizumi,” he set a stack of papers the captain didn’t notice he was holding on the table. “I have updates on your case.”

“Case?” Bokuto’s curious voice questioned. “What case?”

Hajime sighed, gripping the handle of his mug a little tighter. “Uh,” he stuttered, nimbly running his finger on the smooth texture of the papers Suga had given him. “My best friend from the fourties, Oikawa Tooru, he—“

He took a deep breath. The man was happy he only had to explain the situation once, when the whole team was together—unfortunately, Bokuto was not present when that happen. A reassuring hand wordlessly made its way to his shoulder. _Matsukawa_.

“—he fell of a train on one of our missions back in the day. We thought he…But in Washington, it turns out that HYDRA took him. Experimented on him. Now he’s like me, but they wiped his memories.”

Bokuto let out a low whistle. “Ah,” he pursed his lips. “So, what’s the case? Is he missing?”

“Sort of,” Matsukawa said, hesitantly. “He’s probably on the run and probably doesn’t want to be found.”

“But it’s dangerous if he isn’t,” Suga added. “A lot of countries are conducting a man hunt for the Winter Soldier. Regardless if he knew what he was doing and even if it isn’t his fault, a lot of people want him executed.”

Silence enveloped the men, until the god spoke up once more.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re looking for him.” Hajime sounded pathetic, but that’s the only plan they had so far. After that, they could only hope that he was able to coax Oikawa into staying with him. “But he’s untraceable,” his voice sounded dejected. “These files are the most recent sightings of him.”

Sugawara handed a photograph of Oikawa to the god, who looked at it briefly before reverting his attention back to Hajime. Bokuto’s eyes were calculating, another facet of him people tended to overlook. He was a great observer, listener, and warrior. Despite his pride at the beginning, his loud voice, and his overly excited ways, he was smart.

“Iwaizumi,” he said, voice softer than his usual yelling. “Who is Oikawa to you?”

Hajime’s brows raised in surprise. He hadn’t expected the god to ask him such a question. From the corner of his eye, he could see the curious looks of Matsukawa and Sugawara as well. While the two were well aware of how much Oikawa had meant to him—had seen how much Hajime was willing to go just for him—they never heard the captain put it into words.

 _Damn,_ he thought. _This is a rough thing to be thinking at five in the morning._

“He’s everything.”

The voice wasn’t his own.

Startled, they all looked to the entrance of the kitchen once again. Standing sleepily in powder blue banana patterned pyjamas, Kageyama rubbed his eyes tiredly. Deep blue met green. “Your thoughts are very loud whenever you think of him.”

Hajime blinked. “Oh, uh…sorry.”

Kageyama merely waved his hand, walking to the fridge to take out one of his stashes of milk boxes. Plugging in the straw, he slurped a large gulp before continuing. “Think of what your brother means to you, but mix that with your feelings for Akaashi-senpai,” he nibbled the plastic straw. “If that makes sense.”

Hajime felt his face become hot, feeling even more flustered when Bokuto’s head snapped to him. “Iwaizumi!” He cried, latching onto his wrist. The captain startled as he continued. “This is big! I will help you!”

The soldier forcefully chuckled. “It’s okay, Bokuto, you’re busy—“

“No!” The god said, but his voice was akin to a yell. The three seated men jumped, Kageyama standing by the table without giving any kind of reaction. “Oikawa Tooru is important,” he continued, determination firing in his expression. “I will help bring him back to you.”

Knowing there was no point in arguing with Bokuto nor harm in another pair of eyes searching, Hajime settled for a smile. A genuine one, despite the oddness of the situation. “Alright,” he laughed. “Thank you, Bokuto.”

The golden eyed man only beamed.

Sugawara then glanced at the kitchen clock, cursing under his breath. “Sorry guys, I’m late for a meeting,” he apologized as he stood. He gave his signature dazzling smile, waving his hand as the charm on his wrist swayed. “I’ll see you around! Update me on the case, Iwaizumi!”

They bid their goodbyes, before suddenly, Bokuto stood up as well. “Where’s Akaashi?”

“Ah,” Matsukawa said, following in pursuit. “I can take you to him.”

The god cheered, hooking the man’s arm with his own. Hajime watched as Bokuto begin to ramble again, but Matsukawa only seemed amused. In truth, the captain was glad that his friend had gotten along with his team so well, and even those outside of it. He smirked upon realizing that Matsukawa most likely knew where Akaashi was because Hanamaki said they roomed on the same floor.

The scrapping of a stool across him caught his attention, Hajime realizing Kageyama hadn’t left yet.

“Not going back to sleep?” He asked.

The teenager shook his head, swirling cereal in a bowl of milk that he hadn’t noticed the boy prepare. “Can’t,” he said simply. “You’ll just think of Oikawa-san again.”

For the second time that morning— _seriously,_ it was _only_ quarter to six—Hajime felt his cheeks redden. Despite being embarrassed, he never once blamed Kageyama for reading his thoughts. After all, most of the time, he couldn’t help it; in his words, people could think very loudly. And apparently, Hajime’s thoughts on Oikawa were enough to wake the young boy up from his sleep.

A comfortable, only somewhat awkward silence enveloped them. Kageyama was usually quiet, only ever noisy when Hinata was by his side, which was almost _always._ Right as Hajime opened his mouth to start a conversation, the raven haired boy’s voice cut the air.

“I think it’s nice.”

“…What?” Hajime frowned.

“It’s nice,” Kageyama repeated, shovelling a mouthful of colorful pebbles into his mouth. “How much of Oikawa-san you bring with you today.”

“What do you mean?”

Kageyama narrowed his eyes, making Hajime uncomfortable. The younger boy _looked_ scary and honestly _was_ scary, but it was hard to be truly fearful of him when his favorite past time was drinking milk and pining after a ginger best friend as he called him a dumbass.

“I always thought it was weird you told us “I believe in you” every time before you go on a mission,” he noted nonchalantly. The flaring heat of Hajime’s cheeks came back. “Then I found out Oikawa-san did that with you and your team way back when.”

“I—“

“And the pats on the back,” the teenager continued, completely ignoring the captain. “For a while I thought you were really just like a grandpa, patting our backs”—this kid spent _way_ too much time with Tsukishima—“but then I found out Oikawa-san did that to comfort or affirm you as well, so I understood.” He stared into Hajime’s eyes, his own expression unreadable.

“It’s nice,” he repeated.

At six in the morning, Iwaizumi Hajime was rendered speechless by a sixteen year old.

“…Are my thoughts of him that loud?” He asked quietly, almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes,” Kageyama deadpanned. He stood suddenly, placing his dishes in the sink. “But that’s okay,” the teenager began to move to exit the kitchen, sparing the captain one last look. “Loud thoughts just means you care.”

With that, Hajime was left alone in the kitchen. He sighed, planting his forehead on the cool surface of the table. It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Hajime rarely dreamt when he would sleep, but lately, as he grew more anxious with the piling manhunts for his friend, he found himself plagued with many every time he slipped into slumber.

It was currently midnight. The day had been long and gruelling as the captain had been staring at multiple files, CCTV videos, tweets, and more. _Anything_ that would lead him closer to Oikawa. But with the mental exhaustion, Hajime had his chin resting against a pile of papers, lids beginning to shut fully.

_It was cold. Despite being safe in the confines of their temporary facility and under layers of blankets, Hajime remained shivering. Every now and then, despite the new muscle and height the experiment had brought him, he’d feel a ghost of feelings he’d only experience how he was pre-serum. There were times wherein he was unexplainably freezing, and other times where he felt like his asthma was back despite his healthy lungs._

_As a result, the soldier was curled under three sets of blankets, listening to the muffled sounds of whistling wind outside the insulated walls. Their team were divided into separate rooms, some with their own and some in a dorm. Due to his status as captain, he was alone in the small room, being the only occupant of a cot placed by the east wall._

_The creaking of the door caught his attention, causing him to sit up abruptly in alarm. He quickly relaxed upon seeing a familiar tuft of chestnut hair. Oikawa gave him a sleepy smile, eyes crinkling as they always did when he smiled so genuinely._

_“Hey, Iwa-chan,” he whispered, as if he was scared of waking their colleagues up._

_“Oikawa?” He frowned, watching as the man made his way to the bed. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Move over.”_

_Still confused, Hajime complied regardless. They did this all the time when they were kids. When he was cold, Oikawa would hold him, and when Oikawa was scared, Hajime would hold him. They haven’t done it since joining the war, but the captain was familiar with the book that was Oikawa Tooru._

_He laid back down, facing the slightly taller brunet. The two soldiers barely fit the bed, and yet, their figures seemed to mold together seamlessly. Silence consumed them, the steady breathing and presence of his partner already warming him._

_“I’m scared.”_

_A small smile carved its way on Hajime’s lips. He already knew Oikawa felt that way, knowing even without him saying anything. Just like when they were younger, Hajime reached for the hand of his friend that laid in between their faces to link them._

_“It’s okay,” he said softly. It was in these times where the two were incredibly gentle with one another. Around the Howling Commandos, they were always bickering playfully. Around their superiors, they were leaders._

_But with each other, they were just them._

_“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he continued._

_And if Oikawa’s pink tinted cheeks were from the cold or the situation, both of them made no move to mention it. They did not mention Hajime’s rapid beating heart, the thrum of it being a soft muffled noise only they could hear with his heightened senses and whatever happened to Oikawa in the HYDRA facility._

_“Not for me,” the brunet breathed. “I’m scared for you, Hajime.”_

_They didn’t mention it, but the imminent danger of all their missions spoke for them loud enough. In the morning, they would hike up the Alps and ambush a moving train. Everything about it was unsafe, but it was reality. Regardless of the two’s constant need to protect each other, the mission was greater than they were._

_Hajime remained silent, wordlessly bringing Oikawa’s clasped hand to his lips._

_“Go to sleep,” he finally said. And eventually, his partner did._

_He closed his eyes to follow in pursuit, but instead of darkness greeting him, the scene shifted. It was colder, wind stronger, and everything was much, much louder. Someone was screaming._

_“TOORU!”_

_He realized it was him. He was gripping on tightly to the ragged metal of the side of the train, staring helplessly with wide eyes at Oikawa, who held tightly on a metal bar as his legs dangled in the air. “Grab my hand!”_

_He took the risk despite the danger of falling as well. Outstretching his palm, he nearly reached his friend, only for the metal bar to detach further._

_Hajime wasn’t sure if the tears in his eyes were from the stinging of wind or the fact he wasn’t sure if his best friend was going to make it. And yet, in that moment, Oikawa Tooru only smiled. It was filled with sadness and acceptance, yet it radiated the warmth Oikawa always brought with him._

_“It’s okay,” he said. It sounded like a whisper with the fighting ongoing behind him and the screaming of wind. “Hajime,” he said once again._

_“It’s okay.”_

_It happened so quickly. The metal bar he was holding onto snapped, and he watched as his partner let out a scream in shock, tumbling into the white abyss below him. Hajime choked out a sob, clutching the side of the train, throat straining with the amount of times he screamed out his name._

_“TOORU!”_

_And then his surroundings shifted once again. Hajime felt a wave of confusion, unfamiliar with the scene in front of him. There was a figure strapped onto a bulky chair, metal cuffs restraining him and an odd headpiece placed on his face._

_A silver glint caught his eye. His blood went cold._

_“What are you doing?” Oikawa snarled, flailing in the cuffs. “Let me out! Let me out!”_

_A tongue clicked behind him, Hajime turning around to see a short European scientist. Zola. The man only quirked his lip, moving to the control pad next to the chair. “You will be HYDRA’s new fist,” he whispered into Oikawa’s ear, making the latter pale._

_Suddenly, pained screams echoed throughout the room. The onslaught of sounds were mixes of cries, choked sobs, and ear-piercing shrieks. Oikawa’s body was convulsing and jerking at the static sounds coming from the machine he was tucked in._

_Hajime’s mouth was agape in horror. He watched as his friend then became limp, the whirring and mechanical noises of the chair stopping before the contraption was lifted from his face._

_“Soldat?” Zola questioned._

_It was silent for a moment before a smack sounded. Oikawa’s head whipped with the blow before he steadily faced forward once again._

_“You are to reply “ready to comply”,” the scientist sneered. “Stand.”_

_Remaining quiet, Oikawa did so. His eyes, despite being red and bloodshot with tears, were blank. Emotionless. Lifeless._

_“Soldat?” Zola asked once more._

_“…Ready to comply.”_

A harsh slap on the back jerked Hajime awake, making him topple sideways onto the floor from the chair he had been seated in. He panted, sucking in lung fulls of oxygen as his eyes scanned the room wildly. His gaze landed on a concerned looking Hanamaki, who stood beside Matsukawa.

“Another nightmare?” His pink haired friend asked quietly. Matsukawa remained wordless, studying the expressions on Hajime’s face. The captain only gave a curt nod.

“Wanna talk about it?”

A shake of his head.

“…Are you sure?”

A nod.

Hanamaki shared a look with Matsukawa, having a silent conversation. The former then sighed, leaving the room as his curly haired friend took a seat next to him.

“Kageyama woke us up,” Matsukawa explained. “You didn’t tell me you were having nightmares.”

“It’s not important,” Hajime grumbled, reaching over to fix the messed up papers scattered around the desk. “It’s nothing—“

“It’s _something_ ,” Matsukawa interjected, voice firm and steely. Hajime startled, unfamiliar with such a tone from his friend.

“You know, it _was_ my job, right?” He continued. “To listen to this kind of thing. I've done it with Daichi and Hinata," his sympathetic eyes scanned Hajime's face. "I'm open to doing it with you."

Hajime fiddled with one of the plastic envelopes, avoiding Matsukawa’s gaze. The latter sighed heavily, bumping his shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk about it now,” a hand patted his back gently. “But when you want to, I’m here.”

Matsukawa moved, beginning to leave the room. The tension remained thick.

“Issei,” Hajime called, the man turning to him in surprise. “Thank you.”

He only smiled, shaking his head before exiting.

* * *

It wasn’t much, but it was home.

A temporary home, at least. Bucharest was lowkey, and Tooru found that it was one of the easiest places to hide because of that. He shuffled around his apartment, not sparing any mind to the emptiness of it.

The apartment in itself was small. The walls were stained, floorboards creaky and popping, and there was barely any furniture. Curtains framing the windows were rarely pulled back, only letting slivers of sunlight into the room. Against the wall was a medium sized bookshelf, sparsely containing novels, battered notebooks, and potted plants. Tooru liked reading, he found out. Fiction was his favorite, because reality was his enemy at times. He found out that he loved science centric novels, especially because when he’d read them, he’d sometimes be surprised with a memory of him at a science convention in the fourties.

A few feet away from the shelf was a single mattress, covered in haphazardly placed rumpled sheets and a pillow. Seated on the pillow was a single teddy bear donning the iconic costume of the Captain.

To the right of the room was the kitchen with outdated appliances. The food stocked in the fridge was nothing special, and Tooru found himself mostly eating snacks or canned foods anyways. Truthfully, nothing in the apartment seemed personalized, but it was inexplicably _his._ Everything in this small space was.

There were a few scratches and holes from punches in the walls that were his own. The small nightlight that soothed his fear of the dark was his own. The abundant amount of blankets resting on the mattress were under his possession.

It was his.

Nevermind that it was most likely temporary, and that he would have to leave soon. Nevermind that the hidden backpack in the floorboards with money and spare clothes were a looming reminder of reality. Nevermind that he’d gotten noise complaints and pity filled looks from neighbors who heard his night terrors.

It was all important to him.

Tooru, who currently sat cross legged on the floor by his mattress, gripped a beaten notebook in his left hand. In his right, a pen was clutched. While the notebook was new, it certainly didn’t look like it. Its was already worn in with pages folded wrong or crumpled, smudged ink staining random areas and blurring words, and indents on the cover from when he grips too tight. There werea neon sticky notes popping from certain pages, color coding what specific recalled memories pertained to what. Or who.

_Pink for HYDRA. Green for old life. Yellow for Iwaizumi Hajime._

As he jotted down another memory that resurfaced in his dream the night before—it was brief, another one of Iwaizumi wherein the two would toss balls to each other as children—he munched on a pack of milk bread. Nowadays, Tooru found himself growing fond of the snack and its simplicity. His snack diet usually consisted of this along with plums, which he had begun eating after he found out they were good for memory.

His hand reached out for another piece of bread, blinking in surprise when he realized there was nothing. He cursed, realizing he had just finished his last pack. _Well,_ he thought. _It was about time I went grocery shopping anyway._

Tooru shrugged on his usual attire when venturing out the streets of Bucharest. A thick army green bomber jacket layered over a black hoodie, gloves, and a baseball cap with jeans. Giving his apartment a last once over, he left his condominium.

The streets of the small town were always lively. Bustling locals and the stray tourist wandered about, the roads full of market stalls where he would pass by later for fresh fruits and vegetables. As always, his hands remained tucked in his jacket pockets; having his left hand, even covered, out in the open always made him anxious.

However, his local grocery store was a safe place, somewhat. The employees were always kind to him and nobody cowered away from him like they did in other places. They already knew his given name—Tooru—because he was there so often, and his name was common enough. Overall, he had a small amount of trust placed with the people of Bucharest, which may seem offensive, but it was a lot for him to do.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice he had bumped into a slender figure as he reached for a milk bread pack. The person dropped the product they were holding, both of them reaching down to retrieve it.

“Sorry about that,” Tooru said, voice soft as usual. Speaking too loudly always brought attention.

The figure—a man, who was shorter than him but extremely beautiful—only gave a small smile. His eyes were a stormy blue behind a frame of glasses, curly raven hair resting against his forehead. He waved him off, shaking his head lightly.

“It’s alright," he smiled. His gaze flickered down to the packet of milk bread in Tooru's hands. "I like milk bread too," he laughed.

Tooru found himself smiling as well, opening his mouth to ask for the man's name.

“AKAASHI!” A voice boomed, making the soldier jump. He fought the urge to run, reminding himself that he was in a safe place. That these people didn’t know who he truly was.

Behind the man, another came barrelling down the aisle. He was tall, taller than Tooru, and had oddly shaped and colored hair. His irises were a rounded gold, almost akin to an owl. “Akaashi! Can we please get thi—oh,” his snow brows raised upon seeing him.

Under his gaze, Tooru fidgeted nervously. The man became quiet, the one who had been called Akaashi wordlessly taking the bag of candy from his hands. Then he frowned, squinting, and the need to run away felt more urgent.

“…Oikawa Tooru?” The tall man asked quietly.

Tooru froze, Akaashi doing the same as he spun around to look at the brunet. _Scratch that,_ he thought, eyes wild. _They know who I am._

The two toned haired man reached a hand to grasp Tooru’s arm, causing him to reel back with panic etched across his face. He spared them one last look before turning into the other direction, bolting.

 _They know who I am,_ he cursed, still sprinting back to his apartment. _It’s not safe here anymore._

* * *

“Bokuto-san,” Keiji scolded, lightly hitting the god’s toned chest. “You scared him off.”

“I’m sorry!” He cried out before grabbing Keiji’s shoulders. “But we have to get him! He’s Oikawa Tooru!”

The scientist hushed his boyfriend, before his eyes widened in realization. “Wait,” he said, looking back to where the soldier had previously stood. “Iwaizumi’s Tooru?”

“Iwaizumi’s Tooru!”

Realization dawned upon him. He looked back at Bokuto, grabbing his wrist before running out the grocery store. Behind him, Bokuto was rambling an onslaught of questions, asking him where they were going and if they were going to get him.

They slowed to a walk, a few blocks away from their hotel. “Bokuto-san,” he said quietly, looking at the man from the corner of his eye. He saw the troubled look in his gold irises, knowing his boyfriend too well. He was most likely blaming himself for losing Iwaizumi's partner.

“We’ll get him back,” he reassured. “I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yehey new chapter! i never wanted iwaizumi to run into oikawa first, and i just love bokuaka. i hope u guys enjoyed this! sorry if the pacing of the chapter was kind of rushed. also, i added a sneak peak of what iwaoi's relationship was like in the fourties. there's also a few things i briefly mentioned in this chapter that will become a big part later on in the characterization of oikawa and kageyama!!
> 
> thank u guys for those who stuck around and keep reading <3


	8. The Plan*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi Keiji did not have a plan.
> 
> Well, he technically did, but it wasn’t a good plan. Is hacking into the street CCTV cameras to find out where Oikawa lived morally right? No. Is knocking on his door out of the blue smart? Definitely not. Could he get shot once he did so? Yes. Is there about a 70% chance Oikawa was gone or will be gone the moment he saw them? Of course.
> 
> But it’s the only plan he has—plus, he promised Bokuto.
> 
> And he wanted to help Iwaizumi.

Akaashi Keiji did not have a plan.

Well, he _technically_ did, but it wasn’t a _good_ plan. Is hacking into the street CCTV cameras to find out where Oikawa lived morally right? No. Is knocking on his door out of the blue smart? Definitely not. Could he get shot once he did so? Yes. Is there about a 70% chance Oikawa was gone or _will_ be gone the moment he saw them? Of course.

But it’s the only plan he has—plus, he promised Bokuto.

And he wanted to help Iwaizumi.

As he stood in front of a dingy old building with sides stained and chipping, he felt his fingers tighten around his boyfriend’s thick palm. Anxiety bubbled in his chest, making him take a deep breath. They had to do this. It was clear even without Iwaizumi’s words that this man was important. Important enough to almost die on a mission for him.

“Let me do the talking,” he murmured, dark eyes meeting the blazing gold. Bokuto nodded, squeezing Keiji’s hand. In his other grasp, a gray umbrella was held, his hammer under disguise. Truthfully, there was a pit beginning to form in his stomach. He couldn’t help but think something horribly wrong was going to happen.

He shared a knowing look with the god by his side, most likely because he had the same feelings. Keiji sighed, hoping he wasn’t jinxing anything because of his anxiety. 

He really hoped it was just anxiety.

By the time they reached a flimsy wooden door with a rusting _107_ placard placed on the surface, Keiji realized he was slightly trembling. Bokuto gave his hand another squeeze, the scientist inhaling a shaky breath before knocking. He could only pray to all the gods out there (ironic, really) that this would go well. And that Oikawa was still in there.

He ignored the 80% chance that it wouldn’t. He also ignored the fact that that percentage was most likely to be higher than he wanted to admit.

To their surprise—and relief—the door opened. It didn’t _completely_ open, but Keiji had to give it to Oikawa for being cautious. There were about fourteen different kinds of door lock chains (from what he could hear, at least) that prevented it from being opened fully, and he was sure there were even more that weren’t connected to chains at all.

Wide, doe-like, brown eyes stared at them. Akaashi Keiji always thought himself to be a rather observant person, but at that moment, even a blind man would be able to sense the fear emitting from the soldier.

Immediately, the door shut. Keiji paled, but knocked gently again nonetheless.

“Tooru,” he said softly, but loud enough so that his voice traveled to the brunet behind the door. It was too early to use his given name, in his opinion, but it was also safer. The name _Oikawa_ was too recognizable from the tabloids and news reports.

“My name is Akaashi Keiji, and I’m here with Bokuto Koutarou,” he began. Truthfully, Keiji, as bad as it may seem, didn’t want Bokuto to accompany him at all. While Bokuto is the surest way he’ll remain safe, he was also worried that he would say something that would scare the assassin away. Wise god or not, Bokuto still did not understand Earth social cues, more or less how to approach someone who has gone through something as traumatic as Oikawa.

“We’re friends of Iwaizumi. Bokuto is his teammate, another Avenger. I’m sure you know of them.”

He wasn’t actually sure, but at this point, everything about this confrontation was founded on hope.

“We’re not here to harm you,” Keiji said, keeping his tone gentle and soothing. “We won’t even tell Iwaizumi—“ Bokuto shot him a look, “—or anyone, for that matter, if you don’t want us to. We’re only here to talk.”

It seemed like an eternity when really, it was only around fifteen minutes. Which was pretty long, seeing as Keiji had to nervously stand beside an oddly quiet Bokuto, but he was honestly willing to wait the whole goddamn day in that ratty corridor. _For Iwaizumi,_ he thought.

Keiji thought he had never felt more relieved (other that time Bokuto had almost died in New Mexico, but he doesn’t think about that) when he heard clicks coming from the locks of the doors. It opened once again, wider this time, and the man on the other side stared at them with hesitancy clear in his posture.

The scientist’s face broke into a smile, not doubting that his boyfriend was the same beside him.

“Thank you,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why he was saying it. Oikawa merely nodded, stepping aside and letting them in.

And if Oikawa had looked both ways into the empty hallway, he didn’t bother minding it. He didn’t bother minding the glock tucked into the waistband of his sweatpants, nor did he bother thinking about the other weapons that he knew he had hidden somewhere.

Keiji looked around the apartment, heart clenching at the simplicity of it all. His chest began hurting more upon laying his gaze on a small teddy bear donning the uniform of Iwaizumi. A small squeeze of his hand made him realize Bokuto saw the same thing.

Oikawa stood in front of them awkwardly, fidgeting with his fingers and occasionally running his hand through his tousled hair. There was no more than a single chair in his apartment, no couches or a coffee table, not even a television. It was bare but the items it did have gave him a good idea on who the man with them was.

“Sorry,” Oikawa muttered, glancing away briefly. “I don’t…usually get visitors.”

“It’s fine,” Keiji replied in an instant. “We just want to talk.”

The brunet nodded, and a shiver ran down his spine upon realizing that _he didn’t know what to talk about. Oh, he was in deep shit._

“How have you been?” _Deep, deep shit. What kind of question was that, Keiji?_

Luckily, Oikawa seemed unfazed, albeit genuinely confused. “I, uh…” he stuttered, still not meeting their eyes. “It’s been hard, I guess. No one’s recognized really recognized me except, well…” He looked at them with a grimace.

Keiji winced, opening his mouth about to say something—an apology, of some sorts, even if it didn’t make sense—but Oikawa cut him off to his surprise.

“How’s…how is he?” He asked softly. For the first time in their conversation, Oikawa had looked at him in the eye. In his toffee irises held a whirlwind of emotion, and that’s when Keiji _knew._

Oikawa Tooru was willing to go to the ends of the Earth for his friend. And Iwaizumi Hajime was the exact same.

A small smile graced Keiji’s lips. _It’s nice,_ he thought. _Having someone to love you as much as they love each other._

His eyes flitted to Bokuto for a moment, before the god spoke. “He’s doing well,” he said, surprising Keiji so much with the gentleness and volume of his tone that he didn’t even care about Bokuto _not_ leaving the talking to him. “You know, he’s looking for you.”

Oikawa tightly shut his eyes, a shaky exhale escaping his lips. “He shouldn’t be.”

“He can provide you with the best care and security in the world,” Keiji said, slightly defensive. Maybe he was wrong about his thoughts earlier? An ugly feeling bubbled in his stomach, blood going cold at the thought. “He just wants you to be safe.”

The brunet shook his head, biting his lip. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “ _I_ want him to be safe, too.”

The feeling in his stomach disappeared in an instant. Keiji frowned. “What?”

Oikawa finally opened his eyes, glossed over and full of so much _pain_ that even he, the scientist who hated physical contact with people he just met, wanted to hug him close. 

“I hurt him,” he said quietly. “And…I’m not—I’m not _stable,_ okay? If I’m with him, or—or _anyone,_ really—I’m just going to hurt them. Hurt him.”

“But you’re hurting yourself,” Bokuto insisted, still surprisingly gentle while Keiji attempted to smother the urge to argue with the soldier. “You can be better. With Iwaizumi. With _us._ ”

Oikawa only shook his head again. “I can’t—“

It all happened so fast.

Keiji took a step forward, and suddenly, there were bullets raining into the apartment. Instinctively, Bokuto grabbed him to cradle him against his chest, using his own body as a shield as the two ducked down. Oikawa had started shooting back at the general area where the ammo was coming from, kicking up his mattress as a shield of his own.

Three men smashed against the window, covered in standard black uniforms and helmets. Another broke the door down, a trail of six—with more behind him, most likely—on his tail. By this time, Bokuto had whipped his umbrella, the mist wearing off to reveal the _Mjolnir_. His golden eyes blazed with fury, taking sending the hammer at the men who entered the window as Oikawa had begun combat with the others.

Keiji watched, stunned, as Oikawa paled upon landing his gaze on one of the officers. “Soldat,” the man said gruffly. His face had been scarred, with a somewhat olive green tone to his hair and hard-set eyes. “You’re coming with us.”

—

Koutarou watched with wide eyes. Oikawa was pale, much more than his original skin tone, as his mouth opened to say _something._ In all honesty, the god’s mind was running at miles per second. As a warrior, he was always quick on his feet, but these circumstances were much different.

These men—ex-HYDRA, most likely—were exactly that. _Men._ Mortal men who would not survive the wrath of a god’s weapon. To act irrationally would lead to the death of many of them, which went against all his morals. Additionally, the pinpoint accuracy to only knock them out was something he couldn’t necessarily rely on. On the other hand, Oikawa’s safety…

The scene that spanned out before him was happening so slowly. Koutarou wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else entirely, but his breathing continued to be steady paced and quick. He watched as Oikawa’s outstretched arms shook while holding the gun, eyes wide with fear and horror. He watched as the leader of the group slowly reached out to grab at the brunet’s arm, a device akin to metal cuffs in his grasp.

_“You know, Kageyama may have said it already, but I want to hear it from you before I leave, Iwaizumi,” Koutarou said softly. The two men were lounging in the living room late in the evening, the reflection of the glowing city skyline twinkling in their eyes. “Who is Oikawa Tooru?”_

_Iwaizumi took a sip of the copper liquid in his glass. Fukurodanian whiskey, the only alcoholic beverage that could get him and the god drunk._

_“He’s my partner,” Iwaizumi finalized, a distant look in his gaze._

_“I don’t know how to explain it and I think,” he frowned, suddenly. “I think that explains it. Tooru is…beyond words for me. He was always there, even when he wasn’t.”_

_The super soldier chuckled, twirling the liquid and clinking ice in the glass. “But I guess, if I were to put it into words, it’d be what Kageyama said this morning.” A beat passed. “Everything. He’s everything.”_

The slow motion view Koutarou had quickened into a normal pace. Instantaneously, his eyes glowed a blazing gold as he pushed Akaashi (“Mphf!—What the—!”) behind him. Bright electricity prickled across his body, causing the men to turn to him in alarm and begin to shoot.

In a split second, all of them were on the ground, twitching. Oikawa and Akaashi looked at the god with wide eyes, the former taking a hesitant step away from the now befallen ex-HYDRA leader. The brunet’s head snapped to the window, hearing the sirens of the police.

“We have to go, _now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha hello ...... I AM STILL ALIVE! woohoo!! sorry i kinda stopped updating when my finals week hit and then i never really....got back to it.... BUT WOW everyone who commented and left a kudos, you guys really motivated me to get back on my feet! this is kind of a short chapter, but it took me so long to actually write it. 
> 
> i wasn't sure if i wanted a whole civil war type of scene to happen, if i'm honest. KINDA tempting thinking about iwa going against the whole united nations just to save tooru BUTTTT i'm still debating whether or not bokuto will get oikawa back to iwa ;) so yes!! feel free to comment on this chapter what you /think/ might happen next, and who knows? maybe i'll take inspiration from one of you!
> 
> ANOTHER THING! i have a twitter now and it's full of iwaoi brainrots so if you're into that, follow me @sugoiikawa ! i'm also planning to begin drafting an iwaoi spiderman au but i shall try to finish this one first. thank you to everyone who commented, kudos'd, and bookmarked!! you guys mean so much to me!!


End file.
